“‘I haven’t a single sou about me, my little one,’ he replied, in a rough, kind voice, ‘nothing but a bank note.’
“He was about passing on, when trembling and animated by a sort of desperation, I seized his cloak with both hands, and was beginning to entreat him once more, when tears choked my utterance, and I sobbed piteously; the man seemed touched by my grief, he stopped, and raising me off the ground, exclaimed jocosely,
“‘What, all this weeping about one sou, come with me across the piazza, and I’ll get a bill changed and give you a hundred, if that will dry your tears, poor little one;’ and then, inquiring, ‘In what part of the town do you live, and who is it that sends you out such cold, stormy nights as this, to beg; have you a father or mother?’
“‘No sir.’
“‘Who takes care of you?’
“‘An old woman.’
“‘Is she kind to you?’
“‘No; she sends me out to beg, and beats and abuses me, if I don’t bring her as many sous as she bids me bring.’
“‘Why don’t you run away?’