“To comfort you—to save you from despair.”
“But, monsieur, who told you——”
“I saw you just now. You were on the point of carrying out a ghastly plan.”
“Ah! so it was your voice, monsieur!—Poor Anna! I thought it was yours!—But she was asleep; she is sleeping still. Oh! monsieur, I implore you, never let her know. And yet what am I to do here on earth, penniless, without food? She is killing herself to support me! She deprives herself of everything for my sake!”
The unhappy wretch, abandoning himself to his grief, did not notice that he was raising his voice.
“Hush!” said Auguste; “you’ll wake her. Let us not talk so loud. Tell me your troubles; I tell you again, I propose to put an end to them.”
Auguste’s tone and his pleasant voice inspired confidence in the unhappy father; he sat down beside the young man, as far as possible from the small dressing-room, and began his story in an undertone.
“I was not born in poverty, monsieur, and perhaps that is my misfortune. My family was highly considered; my name——”
“I do not ask it, monsieur; I do not need to know your name, to make me wish to be of use to you; I wish to know your misfortunes only.”
The old man’s amazement redoubled. With another glance at Auguste, he began once more: