At the end of twenty-four hours Paulette had accomplished what she set out to do, and Lucie found herself high up in an attic room, in an old part of the city. “It is not magnificent but it will serve,” was Paulette’s comment as they took possession. Lucie made no answer. It seemed a mean and poor habitation to her. Its one redeeming feature was a window which overlooked what had been an old convent garden, and gave opportunity for the sun to find its way into the room, and for the girl to see a bit of sky above the housetops. She foresaw that this would be her favorite spot, and that a chair by the window would save her from a feeling of utter desolation. “All the same I shall never cease to feel like a cat in a strange garret,” she said to herself, as she turned away from the window to help Paulette stow away their very modest belongings.
CHAPTER VIII
A BIT OF SKY
PROBABLY no quarter of the city could have suited Lucie and Paulette better than the one to which good fortune guided them. Paulette, while always declaring that she hated Paris and that she counted the days till she could again return to her own home, nevertheless soon became accustomed to the neighborhood and hobnobbed with dames of her own degree, becoming as canny a femme de ménage as any, doing her marketing with an eye to the main chance and learning where one could best shop for this or that commodity. With her usual good sense she had looked for work of such kind as she could best do, and was engaged by two families to do a certain amount of work, buy the food and cook the midday meal, this employment occupying only her mornings, so that Lucie would not be left alone the entire day.
Many were the charges given to the little girl when Paulette went off to her work. She was not to leave the room on any pretext. She was not to open to any one. She was not to play with fire.
At this last order Lucie always laughed. “One would think me a baby,” she would declare.
“One cannot be too careful,” was Paulette’s invariable reply. “You are ambitious, and some day you may attempt to cook the meal, and then what?”
In her secret heart Lucie did cherish such an ambition in order that she might surprise Paulette by having the meal ready upon the good woman’s return, so she never had a response ready.
“I will tell that Mathilde, below there, to let no one up,” said Paulette as usual, one morning as she went out.
“But supposing it should be grandfather or one of my parents,” returned Lucie.
“That is another thing. Mathilde would understand, yet I do not expect she will have so good news to tell me when I return, for it is ill news we are having now. This morning I hear that the town where that excellent Mons. Carriere lives has fallen into the hands of the Germans.”