why I took it."

The woman held it in her hand. "Oh!" she wailed, and sliding down upon
the sofa, found her handkerchief.

"_Mais non!_" said Julien, "you who have so much courage!"

"But it was my own _face_!" she cried incoherently, holding out the
little pot. "My poor little cream pot!"

"What!"

"It was my face cream!"

"How strange!"

"I had not used it for a week because they had recommended me a new one.
Ah! miraculous! that so small a thing should follow me!"

She touched her eyes carefully with her handkerchief, but a live tear
had fallen on the waistcoat.

"Tell me, mademoiselle ... sit down beside me, my dear ... the poor
little house is no more good to me? I couldn't live there? Is there
a roof?"

"You couldn't live in it."

"But the roof?"