“Be satisfied!” said Mother Bunch; “God is just and good.  If He has denied me many advantages, He has given me my joys, as you have yours.”

“Joys?”

“Yes, and great ones—­without which life would be too burdensome, and I should not have the courage to go through with it.”

“I understand you,” said Cephyse, with emotion; “you still know how to devote yourself for others, and that lightens your own sorrows.”

“I do what I can, but, alas! it is very little; yet when I succeed,” added Mother Bunch, with a faint smile, “I am as proud and happy as a poor little ant, who, after a great deal of trouble, has brought a big straw to the common nest.  But do not let us talk any more of me.”

“Yes, but I must, even at the risk of making you angry,” resumed the Bacchanal Queen, timidly; “I have something to propose to you which you once before refused.  Jacques Rennepont has still, I think, some money left—­we are spending it in follies—­now and then giving a little to poor people we may happen to meet—­I beg of you, let me come to your assistance—­I see in your poor face, you cannot conceal it from me, that you are wearing yourself out with toil.”

“Thanks, my dear Cephyse, I know your good heart; but I am not in want of anything.  The little I gain is sufficient for me.”

“You refuse me,” said the Bacchanal Queen, sadly, “because you know that my claim to this money is not honorable—­be it so—­I respect your scruples.  But you will not refuse a service from Jacques; he has been a workman, like ourselves, and comrades should help each other.  Accept it I beseech you, or I shall think you despise me.”

“And I shall think you despise me, if you insist any more upon it, my dear Cephyse,” said Mother Bunch, in a tone at once so mild and firm that the Bacchanal Queen saw that all persuasion would be in vain.  She hung her head sorrowfully, and a tear again trickled down her cheek.

“My refusal grieves you,” said the other, taking her hand; “I am truly sorry—­but reflect—­and you will understand me.”

“You are right,” said the Bacchanal Queen, bitterly, after a moment’s silence; “you cannot accept assistance from my lover—­it was an insult to propose it to you.  There are positions in life so humiliating, that they soil even the good one wishes to do.”

“Cephyse, I did not mean to hurt you—­you know it well.”

“Oh! believe me,” replied the Bacchanal Queen, “gay and giddy as I am, I have sometimes moments of reflection, even in the midst of my maddest joy.  Happily, such moments are rare.”

“And what do you think of, then?”

“Why, that the life I lead is hardly the thing; then resolve to ask Jacques for a small sum of money, just enough to subsist on for a year, and form the plan of joining you, and gradually getting to work again.”

“The idea is a good one; why not act upon it?”