embraced and comforted. Comforted--for what? He could not have put it
into words; but he was in one of these hours of weakness and exhaustion
when a woman's presence, a woman's kiss, the touch of a hand, the rustle
of a petticoat, a soft look out of black or blue eyes, seem the one
thing needful, there and then, to our heart. And the memory flashed upon
him of a little barmaid at a beer-house, whom he had walked home with
one evening, and seen again from time to time.

So once more he rose, to go and drink a bock with the girl. What should
he say to her? What would she say to him? Nothing, probably. But what
did that matter? He would hold her hand for a few seconds. She seemed to
have a fancy for him. Why, then, did he not go to see her oftener?

He found her dozing on a chair in the beer-shop, which was almost
deserted. Three men were drinking and smoking with their elbows on the
oak tables; the book-keeper in her desk was reading a novel, while the
master, in his shirt-sleeves, lay sound asleep on a bench.

As soon as she saw him the girl rose eagerly, and coming to meet him,
said:

"Good-day, monsieur--how are you?"

"Pretty well; and you?"

"I--oh, very well. How scarce you make yourself!"

"Yes. I have very little time to myself. I am a doctor, you know."

"Indeed! You never told me. If I had known that--I was out of sorts last