He lived in an old house in the suburb, where many work-people, as poor but not as forlorn as he, also lodged.  Among these neighbors there was a single woman, who lived by herself in a little garret, into which came both wind and rain.  She was a young girl, pale, silent, and with nothing to recommend her but her wretchedness and her resignation to it.  She was never seen speaking to any other woman, and no song cheered her garret.  She worked without interest and without relaxation; a depressing gloom seemed to envelop her like a shroud.  Her dejection affected Maurice; he attempted to speak to her; she replied mildly, but in few words.  It was easy to see that she preferred her silence and her solitude to the little hunchback’s good-will; he perceived it, and said no more.

But Toinette’s needle was hardly sufficient for her support, and presently work failed her!  Maurice learned that the poor girl was in want of everything, and that the tradesmen refused to give her credit.  He immediately went to them privately and engaged to pay them for what they supplied Toinette with.

Things went on in this way for several months.  The young dressmaker continued out of work, until she was at last frightened at the bills she had contracted with the shopkeepers.  When she came to an explanation with them, everything was discovered.  Her first impulse was to run to Uncle Maurice, and thank him on her knees.  Her habitual reserve had given way to a burst of deepest feeling.  It seemed as if gratitude had melted all the ice of that numbed heart.

Being now no longer embarrassed with a secret, the little hunchback could give greater efficacy to his good offices.  Toinette became to him a sister, for whose wants he had a right to provide.  It was the first time since the death of his mother that he had been able to share his life with another.  The young woman received his attentions with feeling, but with reserve.  All Maurice’s efforts were insufficient to dispel her gloom:  she seemed touched by his kindness, and sometimes expressed her sense of it with warmth; but there she stopped.  Her heart was a closed book, which the little hunchback might bend over, but could not read.  In truth he cared little to do so; he gave himself up to the happiness of being no longer alone, and took Toinette such as her long trials had made her; he loved her as she was, and wished for nothing else but still to enjoy her company.

This thought insensibly took possession of his mind, to the exclusion of all besides.  The poor girl was as forlorn as himself; she had become accustomed to the deformity of the hunchback, and she seemed to look on him with an affectionate sympathy!  What more could he wish for?  Until then, the hopes of making himself acceptable to a helpmate had been repelled by Maurice as a dream; but chance seemed willing to make it a reality.  After much hesitation he took courage, and decided to speak to her.