She grew very white and rose to her feet.
"I understand. You are driving me away. If it is your desire I will earn my living alone. Je ne vous serai pas sur le dos."
For all her vulgar asseveration that she would not be on his back, her manner held a dignity which touched him. He held out his hand.
"But I don't drive you away, little idiot," he laughed. "On the contrary. You are like Asticot and Narcisse. You belong to me. But Asticot is going to learn how to become an artist, and Narcisse when he is bored can hunt for fleas. You are a young woman; things must arrange themselves differently. But how? Voilà tout!"
"It is very simple," said Blanquette.
"How, simple?"
"Dame! I can work for you and Asticot."
"The devil!" cried Paragot.
"But yes," she went on earnestly. "I know that men are men, and sometimes they do not like to work. It happens very often. Tiens! mon maître, I am alone, all that is most alone. You are the only friends I have in the world, you and Asticot. You have been kinder to me than any one I have ever met. I put you in my prayers every night. It is a very little thing that I should work for you, if it fatigues you to scrape the fiddle in these holes of cabarets. It is true. True as the bon Dieu. I would tear myself into four pieces for you. Je suis brave fille, and I can work. But no!" she cried, looking deep into his eyes. "You can't refuse. It is not possible."
"Yes, I refuse," said Paragot.