At sight of his master, Bertrand stopped, crestfallen. Auguste was so moved that he stood for some moments unable to speak. At last he cried:
“What! you, working, Bertrand? Have you turned tailor?”
“Why not, monsieur? I handled a musket a long while, and now I am handling a needle; they say that an honest man honors whatever he touches.”
“And you pass your nights working! you are ruining your eyesight in order to work a little more!”
“This is a mere chance, monsieur; there was a piece of work to be done in a hurry to-night, and I thought—But it’s the first time, I swear!”
“Oh! don’t try to deceive me any more! It’s for me that you sit up all night and deprive yourself of rest. It’s to spin out our funds a little longer that you are ruining your health. And I—I pass my days in idleness; I squander in an hour or two what you work like a dog as many nights to earn.”
“No, monsieur, no, I work because I like it, because it amuses me; and if I should try to be less of a burden to you, would there be any harm in that? Haven’t you been doing everything for me for a long time? and do you propose to forbid your old comrade to do something for you?”
Auguste could not reply, but he opened his arms to Bertrand and pressed him to his heart; then he forced his faithful servant to go upstairs with him and go to bed.
The next day, at daybreak, Auguste sent for an upholsterer.
“What idea have you got in your head now, monsieur?” queried Bertrand.