nature, Germain might at some future period become indifferent to that
which then tormented him so cruelly.

Rigolette, wiping her eyes, and addressing Germain, who was leaning against
the grating, said to him with a touching, serious, almost solemn accent,
and in a manner he had never seen her assume, "Listen to me, Germain; I
shall express myself perhaps badly; I do not speak so well as you; but what
I shall tell you will be as truly sincere. In the first place, you were
wrong to complain of being isolated, abandoned."

"Oh! do not think that I ever forget that which your pity for me inspires
you to do!"

"Just now, I did not interrupt you when you spoke of _pity_; but since
you repeat this word, I must say that it is not pity at all which I feel
for you. I am going to explain this as well as I can. When we were
neighbors, I loved you as a brother, as a good companion; you rendered me
some little services, I rendered you others; you made me partake of your
Sunday amusements, I tried to be very lively, very agreeable, in order to
thank you; we were quits."

"Quits? oh! no--I----"

"Let me speak in my turn. When you were forced to leave the house where we
dwelt, your departure caused me more regret than that of my other
neighbors."

"Can it be true?"

"Yes, because they were men without care, whom certainly I ought to miss