With his stout gold-headed cane in his hand, he was descending the
stairs to go out as usual to the market, when Dame Rochelle accosted
him in the hall.
Her eyes and whole demeanor wore an expression of deep anxiety as
the good dame looked up in the face of the Bourgeois.
"Do not go to the market to-day, dear master!" said she,
beseechingly; "I have been there myself and have ordered all we
need for the due honor of the day."
"Thanks, good dame, for remembering the blessed anniversary, but you
know I am expected in the market. It is one of my special days.
Who is to fill the baskets of the poor people who feel a delicacy
about coming for alms to the door, unless I go? Charity fulfills
its mission best when it respects the misfortune of being poor in
the persons of its recipients. I must make my round of the market,
good dame."
"And still, dear master, go not to-day; I never asked you before; I
do this time. I fear some evil this morning!"
The Bourgeois looked at her inquiringly. He knew the good dame too
well not to be sure she had some weighty reason for her request.
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