forehead, a head that a painter might have chosen as a model for that of
Lycurgus. The poor man's heart was big with affections seeking an
object; he had never been loved but by a poodle that had died some time
since, of which he would talk to me, asking whether I thought the Church
would allow masses to be said for the repose of its soul. His dog, said
he, had been a good Christian, who for twelve years had accompanied him
to church, never barking, listening to the organ without opening his
mouth, and crouching beside him in a way that made it seem as though he
were praying too.

"This man centered all his affections in me; he looked upon me as a
forlorn and suffering creature, and he became, to me, the most
thoughtful mother, the most considerate benefactor, the ideal of the
virtue which rejoices in its own work. When I met him in the street, he
would throw me a glance of intelligence full of unutterable dignity; he
would affect to walk as though he carried no weight, and seemed happy in
seeing me in good health and well dressed. It was, in fact, the devoted
affection of the lower classes, the love of a girl of the people
transferred to a loftier level. Bourgeat did all my errands, woke me at
night at any fixed hour, trimmed my lamp, cleaned our landing; as good
as a servant as he was as a father, and as clean as an English girl. He
did all the housework. Like Philopoemen, he sawed our wood, and gave to
all he did the grace of simplicity while preserving his dignity, for he
seemed to understand that the end ennobles every act.

"When I left this good fellow, to be house surgeon at the Hotel-Dieu, I
felt an indescribable, dull pain, knowing that he could no longer live
with me; but he comforted himself with the prospect of saving up money
enough for me to take my degree, and he made me promise to go to see him
whenever I had a day out: Bourgeat was proud of me. He loved me for my