“Why?” asked Godefroid.

“Because my grandson, who is sixteen years old, is even more shabbily dressed than I am.  Would you believe it, monsieur?  I dare not go to that doctor; my clothes are so out of keeping with a man of my age and dignity.  If he saw the father as shabby as I am, and the boy even worse, he might not give my daughter the needful attention; he would treat us as doctors treat the poor.  And think, my dear monsieur, that I love my daughter for all the suffering she has caused me, just as I used to love her for the joys I had in her.  She has become angelic.  Alas! she is nothing now but a soul, a soul which beams upon her son and me; the body no longer exists; she has conquered suffering.  Think what a spectacle for a father!  The whole world, to my daughter, is within the walls of her room.  I keep it filled with flowers, for she loves them.  She reads a great deal; and when she has the use of her hands she works like a fairy.  She has no conception of the horrible poverty to which we are reduced.  This makes our household way of life so strange, so eccentric, that we cannot admit visitors.  Do you now understand me, monsieur?  Can you not see how impossible a neighbor is?  I should have to ask for so much forbearance from him that the obligation would be too heavy.  Besides, I have no time for friends; I educate my grandson, and I have so much other work to do that I only sleep three, or at most four hours at night.”

“Monsieur,” said Godefroid, who had listened patiently, observing the old man with sorrowful attention, “I will be your neighbor, and I will help you.”

A scornful gesture, even an impatient one, escaped the old man, for he was one who believed in nothing good in human nature.

“I will help you,” pursued Godefroid, taking his hand, “but in my own way.  Listen to me.  What do you mean to make of your grandson?”

“He is soon to enter the Law school.  I am bringing him up to the bar.”

“Then he will cost you six hundred francs a year.”

The old man made no reply.

“I myself,” continued Godefroid after a pause, “have nothing, but I may be able to do much.  I will obtain the Polish doctor for you.  And if your daughter is curable she shall be cured.  We will find some way of paying Halpersohn.”

“Oh! if my daughter be cured I will make a sacrifice I can make but once,” cried the old man.  “I will sell the pear I have kept for a thirsty day.”

“You shall keep the pair—­”

“Oh, youth! youth!” exclaimed Monsieur Bernard, shaking his head.  “Adieu, monsieur; or rather, au revoir.  This is the hour for the Library, and as my books are all sold I am obliged to go there every day to do my work.  I shall bear in mind the kindness you express, but I must wait and see whether you will grant us the consideration I must ask from my neighbor.  That is all I expect of you.”

“Yes, monsieur, let me be your neighbor; for, I assure you, Barbet is not a man to allow the rooms to be long unrented, and you might have far worse neighbors than I. I do not ask you to believe in me, only to let me be useful to you.”