“Fond of him!” cried the blind man, with impetuosity; “he saved me from ruin, sir.  It was all over with me; the thought of my children consumed me; I was dying because I could not see.  He saved me.”

“With assistance—­with money?”

“Money! what is money?  Everybody can give that.  Yes, he clothed us, he fed us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about one hundred dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did more—­he cured my heart!”

“But how?”

“By his kind words, sir.  Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in the world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor stool, he talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and easy.”

“What did he say to you?”

“I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all he said to me; but they were things I had never heard before.  He spoke to me of the good God better than a minister; and he brought sleep back to me.”

“How was that?”

“It was two months since I had slept soundly.  I would just doze, and then start up, saying,

“‘James, you are blind,’ and then my head would go round—­round, like a madman; and this was killing me.  One morning he came in, this dear friend, and said to me,

“‘James, do you believe in God?’

“‘Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?’

“’Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your misfortune comes upon you, say aloud a prayer—­then two—­then three—­and you will go to sleep.’”

“Yes,” said the wife, with her calm voice, “the good God, He gives sleep.”

“This is not all, sir.  In my despair I would have killed myself.  I said to myself, ’You are useless to your family, you are the woman of the house, and others support you.’  But he was displeased—­’Is it not you who support your family?  If you had not been blind, would any one have given you the five hundred francs?’

“‘That is true, Mr. Desgranges.’

“‘If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?’

“‘That is true, Mr. Desgranges.’

“‘If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?’

“‘It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.’

“’You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families.  Misfortune is like rain; it must fall a little on everybody.  If you were not blind, your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might have died.  Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor man; but they—­they have none.’

“‘True, true.’  And I began to feel less sad.  I was even happy to suffer for them.  And then he added,

“’Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the greatest friend of men.  There are people whom it makes wicked; there are others made better by it.  For you, it must make you beloved by everybody; you must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when they wish to speak of any one who is good, they will say, good as the blind man of the Noiesemont.  That will serve for a dowry to your daughter.’  This is the way he talked to me, sir:  and it gave me heart to be unfortunate.”