word of honor, alarmed! Then he--"

"Caught you by the throat?"

"You are out there. He looked at me, at first, with a bewildered air; then,
letting his handkerchief fall, which he had, doubtless, gnawed and torn in
grinding his teeth, he cried, throwing himself into my arms, 'Oh! I am very
unhappy!'"

"Draw it mild!"

"Fact! Well, in spite of his death's-head look, when he pronounced these
words his voice was so heart-rending--I would say, almost so soft--"

"So soft? Get out. There is not a rattle, nor Tom-cat with a cold, whose
sounds would not be music alongside his voice."

"It is possible; that did not prevent it from being so plaintive at that
time that I felt myself quite affected; so much the more as M. Ferrand is
not habitually communicative. 'Sir,' said I, 'I believe that.' 'Leave me!
leave me!' he answered, interrupting me; 'to tell your sufferings to
another is a great solace.' Evidently he took me for some one else."

"So familiar? Then you owe us two bottles of Bordeaux:

"'When one's master is not proud
One must freely treat the crowd.'

It is the proverb that speaks; it is sacred. Proverbs are the wisdom of a
nation."