But they kept up bravely; only when the woman departed with her first five francs in her hand, they fell on the little shabby sofa and broke into tears.
But miserable as we were, we were at least safe for a while; and as the weeks followed one another--terrible weeks for Paris--we grew not only more reconciled to our lot, but sometimes almost happy.
We gave ourselves the name of Regnier, and in a little time our sour landlady fulfilled her promise of finding work for the ladies' needles.
As for me, I lit on occupation close by, with a man who let horses for hire, and here once more I found myself engaged in the old familiar occupation of the Knockowen days.

The ladies rarely ventured out, and when they did it was usually after dark, and always under my escort.
Somehow or other our common lot, the common garb we wore, and the common dependence we felt on one another, made our make-believe little family into something very like a real one.

When the day's work was done, and the candle was lit and the log thrown on the fire, it was hard not to forget that I was after all only a poor serving-man to these two ladies.
They were so grateful and gentle to me, and my little lady's eyes, when sometimes they met mine, were wont to light up so brightly, that, had I been less strict with myself, I should have been--tempted, many a time, to presume on all this kindness, and give myself the airs and privileges of an equal.

But Heaven kept me in mind of what was due to her; and though I loved her secretly, she was always my little mistress when we were together.
I was not long in hearing, among other things, the news of what had happened at Knockowen since I left.

When my overturned boat had drifted ashore, they all set me down as dead, some with regret, some with indifference, some with relief.
Among the latter, I guessed, was his honour, who never took kindly to me, and bestowed more dislike on me, I always thought, than my importance deserved.