“They seemed dumfounded, repeating over and over that such a thing was unheard of; and on the spot they began to look for a name for me.
“‘Where were you born?’ inquired my new mistress.
“‘At Louveciennes.’
“‘Very well,’ said the other: ‘let us call her Louvecienne.’
“A long discussion followed, which irritated me so much that I felt like running away; and it was agreed at last, that I should be called, not Louvecienne, but Lucienne; and Lucienne I have remained.
“There was nothing said about baptism, since my new mistress was a Jewess.
“She was an excellent woman, although the grief she had felt at the loss of her husband had somewhat deranged her faculties.
“As soon as it was decided that I was to remain, she desired to inspect my trousseau. I had none to show her, possessing nothing in the world but the rags on my back. As long as I had remained with the laundress, I had finished wearing out her old dresses; and I had never worn any other under-clothing save that which I borrowed, ‘by authority,’ from the clients,—an economical system adopted by many laundresses.
“Dismayed at my state of destitution, my new mistress sent for a seamstress, and at once ordered wherewith to dress and change me.
“Since the death of the poor gardeners, this was the first time that any one paid any attention to me, except to exact some service of me. I was moved to tears; and, in the excess of my gratitude, I would gladly have died for that kind old lady.