“What could I do?” replied he, with animation. “Fifteen days after, James was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might be heard singing at his work.”
“Saved! working! singing! but how?”
“How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will make him tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his lips. It will embarrass me less, and his cordial and ardent face will complete the work.”
In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard at the door, and then a little tap.
“Come in, James;” and he entered with his wife,
“I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman—she must see you sometimes, must she not?”
“You did right, James. Sit down.”
He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not knock against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was young, small, vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a singularly expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a magnificent smile of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing behind him.
“James,” said Mr. Desgranges to him, “here is one of my good friends, who is very desirous to see you.”
“He is a good man, then, since he is your friend.”