"A few."

"Do not trust to friends, monsieur; it will spare you the humiliation of finding them out. What are your resources?"

"I have none," he replied.

"How much money have you?"

"Nothing!"

"Ah, monsieur,"—she now sat down again, visibly softened,—"if you will come and dine with me and petite Poupon we can talk it all over at leisure, n'est-ce pas? I can make a bien joli pot-au-feu for a franc,—which means soup, meat, and vegetables; and I know a petite marchande de vins where one can get a litre of Bordeaux for cinquante, which, with a salade at two sous and cheese for two more, will round out a very good dinner for two. Ah! le voilà!"

She wound up her rapid summary of culinary delights with the charming eagerness of a child, bringing forth from the folds of her dress a small purse, through the netting of which glistened some silver coin, and causing it to chink triumphantly.

Jean Marot, suddenly lifted out of himself by this impulsive good-nature, was at first embarrassed, then stupefied. He was unable to utter a word. He was ashamed of his own weakness; he was overwhelmed by the sense of her impetuous good-will and practical human sympathy. He silently pressed the thin hand which had unconsciously crept into his.

"No, it is nothing," she said, lightly, withdrawing her hand. "I have plenty to-day,—you will have it some other day; and then you can give me a petit souper, monsieur, n'est-ce pas?"

"Very well. On that condition I will accept your invitation, mademoiselle. We will dine with petite Poupon."