You see, that was something one could understand; and when they got medicine from the Madam, it was something that both smelled and tasted strong, so they could see that it was no “stuff and nonsense.”
And if it did not do good every time, everybody understood one thing; that even Madam Speckbom did not have dominion over life and death; yet what could be done, was done, and that was always better than to be torn to pieces by the doctor’s suspicious learning, as so many had been. And besides, Madam was much—very much cheaper.
To aid her in her practice, she had a young girl, called Loppen. Madam had brought her home with her, after she had cured her of a bad disease of the eyes.
Loppen had no parents; her name was Elsie.
A surname I do not think she ever had. For she was in fact a daughter of one of the town’s finest gentlemen—whose name could not stand on the church records in that capacity.
In a Foundling’s Home, Loppen grew up after her mother—a servant girl—was dead. And there it was, too, that she had received her nickname [which means “a flea”].
It came from a dark brown cloak which she had received at a Christmas distribution. It was at first so long and big that when the child hopped about in it, she looked so much like a flea that some one was at last witty enough to give her the name.
And this cloak was of such indestructible material that it followed her through her childhood—first as a cloak, then as a jacket, next as a belt, and at last as a hat with a rose-red band.
She was yet in this hat, with a rose-red band, when she took the disease of the eyes. Bentzen, as the physician of the institution, trifled with her a good half year until she lay like a little beast in a dark corner, and screamed whenever they turned her to the light.
But then Miss Falbe secretly placed her under Madam Speckbom’s treatment, and, be it as it may, the child recovered.