to boarding school.  She found this out by careful investigation.  Then she used great diplomacy to persuade her parents to change their route and pass by this way again during vacation.  After a year of scheming she succeeded.  She had not seen him for two years, and scarcely recognized him, he was so changed, had grown taller, better looking and was imposing in his uniform, with its brass buttons.  He pretended not to see her, and passed by without a glance.  She wept for two days and from that time loved and suffered unceasingly.

“Every year he came home and she passed him, not daring to lift her eyes.  He never condescended to turn his head toward her.  She loved him madly, hopelessly.  She said to me: 

“’He is the only man whom I have ever seen.  I don’t even know if another exists.’  Her parents died.  She continued their work.

“One day, on entering the village, where her heart always remained, she saw Chouquet coming out of his pharmacy with a young lady leaning on his arm.  She was his wife.  That night the chair-mender threw herself into the river.  A drunkard passing the spot pulled her out and took her to the drug store.  Young Chouquet came down in his dressing gown to revive her.  Without seeming to know who she was he undressed her and rubbed her; then he said to her, in a harsh voice: 

“‘You are mad!  People must not do stupid things like that.’  His voice brought her to life again.  He had spoken to her!  She was happy for a long time.  He refused remuneration for his trouble, although she insisted.

“All her life passed in this way.  She worked, thinking always of him.  She began to buy medicines at his pharmacy; this gave her a chance to talk to him and to see him closely.  In this way, she was still able to give him money.

“As I said before, she died this spring.  When she had closed her pathetic story she entreated me to take her earnings to the man she loved.  She had worked only that she might leave him something to remind him of her after her death.  I gave the priest fifty francs for her funeral expenses.  The next morning I went to see the Chouquets.  They were finishing breakfast, sitting opposite each other, fat and red, important and self-satisfied.  They welcomed me and offered me some coffee, which I accepted.  Then I began my story in a trembling voice, sure that they would be softened, even to tears.  As soon as Chouquet understood that he had been loved by ‘that vagabond! that chair-mender! that wanderer!’ he swore with indignation as though his reputation had been sullied, the respect of decent people lost, his personal honor, something precious and dearer to him than life, gone.  His exasperated wife kept repeating:  ’That beggar!  That beggar!’

“Seeming unable to find words suitable to the enormity, he stood up and began striding about.  He muttered:  ’Can you understand anything so horrible, doctor?  Oh, if I had only known it while she was alive, I should have had her thrown into prison.  I promise you she would not have escaped.’