“Ah! I was sitting on one of the fair sex, although I hadn’t a suspicion of it.—Excuse me, my little woman, I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.”
“Give me your candle and let me light it for you,” said Ernest; “for that is what you want, I have no doubt.”
“Yes, neighbor, if you would be so kind. I couldn’t use my flint because I scratched my right hand a little, while getting into my room.”
Not until then did we notice that the poor fellow’s right hand was covered with blood, two of his fingers being badly cut. The girl pointed to a closet in which there were some rags, with which Ernest hastily bandaged the tailor’s hand. He made no objection, but said:
“Oh, mon Dieu! it’s nothing at all, a trifle. I don’t know what was the matter to-night, but I broke two panes instead of one.”
“But Monsieur Pettermann, don’t you ever propose to give up your habit of going into your room through the window?”
“What would you have me do? I lose my key—these keys slip out of your pocket without your knowing it, and besides, I believe my pocket has a hole in it. But I promise you that I’ll look after it now, especially as it is going to be hard for me to sew it up.”
“Here’s your candle.”
“Many thanks. Good-night all. Better health to you, neighbor. If you ever need my services, call on me; don’t hesitate.”
“Thanks, thanks, Monsieur Pettermann.”