“It’s my turn to bring you some, I think,” began the man she could trust; but she stopped him by putting up her plump little white hand.

“If you mean with money, no,” she said, with soft decision that was pretty and sad to hear.  “If you mean with advice, yes.  If you could only get me something to do!  You see, they will be turning us out of our hotel to-morrow.  They’ve let us keep our rooms on, up to now, but for two days they’ve not given us anything to eat.  Of course, it can’t go on like this.  If it hadn’t been for you, I think when I went back to tell my mother that the last louis of the viatique was gone, we would have killed ourselves.”

“Great Heaven, you must promise me not to do that,” the young man implored.

“I will promise, now, for you have saved me by—­caring a little.  You do care, really, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have blood in my veins, if I didn’t.  But—­about something for you to do—­I must think.”

“Are you staying here for some time?” asked the girl.

“I haven’t made up my mind.”

“I asked because I—­I suppose you don’t need a secretary, do you?  I can write such a good English hand; and I know French and Italian as well as I do German, and your own language.  If I could be of use, I would work so hard for you.”

“I dare say I shall be needing a secretary after Christmas, indeed, I’m sure I shall,” insisted the young man, more and more earnest in his desire to do good.  “I have dozens of letters to write every day, and all sorts of odds and ends to keep straight.  I could bring the things down to your place and you could help me, if you would.  But I’m afraid it would be no end of bother to you.”

“I should love it,” said the girl, gently.

“Oh, it would be hard work.  It would take a lot of your time, and be worth a lot of money.”

“Would it really?  But you mustn’t overpay me.  I should be so angry if you did that.”

“There’s no danger.  I’m a good business man, I assure you.  I should pay a capable secretary like you—­knowing several languages and all that—­say forty dollars a week.  That’s about two hundred francs.”

“Wouldn’t that be too much?”

“Hardly enough.”

“You are so good—­so good!  But I knew you would be.  I wonder if you would think me a very bold girl if I told you something?  It’s this; I’ve never forgotten you since those days in Paris.  You were different, somehow, from other men I had seen.  I thought about you.  I had a presentiment that we should meet again.  My mother dreamed of numbers to play at roulette.  I dreamed of—­but oh, I am saying things I ought not to say!  Please don’t blame me.  When you’ve starved for two days, and not known what to do—­unless to die, and then a man comes who is kind, and saves you from terrible things, you can’t be as wise and well behaved as at other times.”

“Poor child,” said the young man.