“But I have no money, monsieur.”

If you have no money, you have friends; a friend has given you your new pillow, you know, and another friend, perhaps, may give you a room to live in.”

Her eyelids drooped, her color came and went quickly, I detected beneath her bodice the convulsive movement of her heart.  The agitation she betrayed communicated itself to me; I rose from my chair and leaned against the window-sill, so that my face might be no longer on a level with her eyes.

“I understand you, monsieur!” she cried, and immediately burst into tears.

“Yes, Noemi,” I said, “I see you understand me.  There is really a room for you such as I have described.  In two days you will leave the hospital, but you are not without a home.  The woman of the house in which you will live is kind and good, she knows all about you and Bambin, and has promised me to take care of you.  Your furniture is bought, your rent is paid,—­you have nothing to do but to go and take possession of the room.  I hope you and Bambin will be happy there.”

She made me no reply in words, but bending forward over her pillow she took my hand and timidly kissed it.

It would be hard to say which of us was the happier on the day which saw Noemi installed in her new abode,—–­she, or I, or Bambin.  Bambin’s delight was certainly the most demonstrative; he careered round and round the room uttering joyous barks, returning at intervals in a panting and exhausted condition to his pretty mistress to give and receive caresses which I own I felt greatly disposed to envy him.  I left my four-footed friend with some regret, for he and I had been good companions during Noemi’s sojourn at the hospital, and I knew that my rooms would at first seem lonely without him.  His fair owner, as she bade me goodbye at the door of her new domicile, begged me to return often and see them both, but hard as I found it to refuse the tempting request, I summoned up resolution to tell her that it would be best for us to meet very seldom indeed, perhaps only once or twice more, but that her landlady had my name and address and would be able to give me tidings of her pretty often.

Her childlike nature and instincts were never more apparent than on this occasion.

“What have I done, monsieur?” she asked with a bewildered expression, her brown eyes lifted pleadingly, and the corners of her mouth depressed.  “I thought you would like to come and see us.  Bambin is so fond of you, too,—­we shall both be so sorry if you don’t come.”

As gently and as tenderly as I could, I tried to explain to her our mutual position and the evil construction which others would be sure to place on any friendship between us.  But she only shook her head in a troubled way and sighed.

“I don’t understand,” she said, “but of course you know best.  I used to hear something like that at Maman Paquet’s, about other girls, but I never understood it.  Only say that you are not angry with me, and let me hear about you as often as you can.”