“No, don’t hesitate; call me; it will be a pleasure to me.”
The tailor returned to his room. I thought that the young invalid must have need of rest, so I too left the room after wishing them good-night. But I wanted to say something to Ernest alone. He escorted me downstairs with the light. When we were both in front of my door, I stopped and looked at him, and I held my peace; for I really did not know how to broach the subject.
Ernest, who did not suspect that I wished to say anything to him, wished me good-night and was about to go upstairs. I caught his arm to detain him; I felt that I must make up my mind to speak.
“Monsieur Ernest, I am delighted to have become better acquainted with you; I hope that our acquaintance will not stop here.”
“I thank you, monsieur. I hope so too. I tell you again that I shall not forget your interest in my grief to-night. There are so many people who would have laughed at my distress, and who would have blamed it.”
“Such people never see in love-affairs anything more than momentary pleasure; the moment any pain enters into them, they think they should be broken off.”
“Ah, yes! you are quite right. But good-night, I must go.”
“One moment more. I wanted to say to you—First of all, I pray you, excuse me; I trust that what I am going to say will not offend you. Young men can afford to speak frankly. Although I am five or six years older than you, I remember very well that when I was eighteen, and was still living with my parents, I was sometimes sorely embarrassed to give presents to my mistress. Now listen: your young friend has met with an accident that will entail expenses which you did not expect so soon. A young man who lives with his parents is sometimes short of money. Allow me to offer you my purse. You can repay me when you are able.”
Ernest shook my hand warmly as he replied:
“I thank you for your offer, Monsieur Blémont; it does not offend me, for I do not consider it a crime to be short of money, and I will not make a pretence of being well supplied with it, for that would give you a poor idea of my heart, after seeing that poor child’s bedroom. My parents are well-to-do, as you know; but they treat me very harshly, because I do not do absolutely what they would like. They think also that at my age, a young man should not want to spend money upon a mistress. Perhaps they are not wrong, after all. I assure you, however, that the privations which Marguerite and I suffer, far from lessening our love, do in fact increase it. Should we not become attached to a person in proportion to what she has suffered for our sake? Marguerite is so young and so pretty, that, if she chose, she could have wealthy lovers with whom she would enjoy all the luxuries of life; she prefers to remain poor with me. But we are not to be pitied for that, for we love each other better than money. However, this embarrassment will only be temporary, I hope; I have two plays accepted, and if they are successful——”