“Only you must not exaggerate; I do not promise positively to get this good fellow out of prison; I say, that I will do what I can.  But what I promise positively is—­for, since the imprisonment of poor Jacques, your friend must be very much straitened—­”

“Alas, sir!”

“What I promise positively is some little assistance which your friend will receive to-day, to enable her to live honestly; and if she behaves well—­hereafter—­why, hereafter, we shall see.”

“Oh, sir! you do not know how welcome will be your assistance to poor Cephyse!  One might fancy you were her actual good angel.  Faith! you may call yourself Rodin, or Charlemagne; all I know is, that you are a nice, sweet—­”

“Come, come, do not exaggerate,” said Rodin; “say a good sort of old fellow; nothing more, my dear child.  But see how things fall out, sometimes!  Who could have told me, when I heard you knock at my door—­which, I must say, vexed me a great deal—­that it was a pretty little neighbor of mine, who under the pretext of playing off a joke, was to put me in the way of doing a good action?  Go and comfort your friend; this evening she will receive some assistance; and let us have hope and confidence.  Thanks be, there are still some good people in the world!”

“Oh, sir! you prove it yourself.”

“Not at all!  The happiness of the old is to see the young happy.”

This was said by Rodin with so much apparent kindness, that Rose-Pompon felt the tears well up to her eyes, and answered with much emotion:  “Sir, Cephyse and me are only poor girls; there are many more virtuous in the world; but I venture to say, we have good hearts.  Now, if ever you should be ill, only send for us; there are no Sisters of Charity that will take better care of you.  It is all that we can offer you, without reckoning Philemon, who shall go through fire and water for you, I give you my word for it—­and Cephyse, I am sure, will answer for Jacques also, that he will be yours in life and death.”

“You see, my dear child, that I was right in saying—­a fitful head and a good heart.  Adieu, till we meet again.”

Thereupon Rodin, taking up the basket, which he had placed on the ground by the side of his umbrella, prepared to descend the stairs.

“First of all, you must give me this basket; it will be in your way going down,” said Rose-Pompon, taking the basket from the hands of Rodin, notwithstanding his resistance.  Then she added:  “Lean upon my arm.  The stairs are so dark.  You might slip.”

“I will accept your offer, my dear child, for I am not very courageous.”  Leaning paternally on the right arm of Rose-Pompon, who held the basket in her left hand, Rodin descended the stairs, and crossed the court-yard.

“Up there, on the third story, do you see that big face close to the window-frame?” said Rose-Pompon suddenly to Rodin, stopping in the centre of the little court.  “That is my Ninny Moulin.  Do you know him?  Is he the same as yours?”