"Not my name. Prudence compelled me to conceal that. Still, Genius
pierces under any name. You might have discovered me under my nom de
plume."

"Pardon me--I was always _bete_. But, oh! for so many weeks I was so
poor--so destitute. I could go nowhere, except--don't be ashamed of me--
except--"

"Yes? Go on."

"Except where I could get some money. At first to dance--you remember my
bolero. Then I got a better engagement. Do you not remember that you
taught me to recite verses? Had it been for myself alone, I might have
been contented to starve. Without thee, what was life? But thou wilt
recollect Madeleine, the old _bonne_ who lived with me. Well, she had
attended and cherished me since I was so high-lived with my mother.
Mother! no; it seems that Madame Surville was not my mother after all.
But, of course, I could not let my old Madeleine starve; and therefore,
with a heart as heavy as lead, I danced and declaimed. My heart was not
so heavy when I recited thy songs."

"My songs! _Pauvre ange_!" exclaimed the Poet.

"And then, too, I thought, 'Ah, this dreadful siege! He, too, may be
poor--he may know want and hunger;' and so all I could save from
Madeleine I put into a box for thee, in case thou shouldst come back to
me some day. _Mon homme_, how could I go to the Salle Favre? How could
I read journals, Gustave? But thou art not married, Gustave? _Parole
d'honneur_?"