“What she called thus was a sort of cellar, at least twelve inches lower than the street, receiving its only light through the glass door, in which several broken panes had been replaced by sheets of paper. It was revoltingly filthy, and filled with a sickening odor. On all sides were heaps of vegetables,—cabbages, potatoes, onions. In one corner a nameless heap of decaying rags, which she called her bed; in the centre, a small cast-iron stove, the worn-out pipe of which allowed the smoke to escape in the room.
“‘Anyway,’ she said to me, ‘you have a home now!’
“I helped her to unload the cart. She filled the stove with coal, and at once declared that she wanted to inspect my things.
“My trunks were opened; and it was with exclamations of surprise that the woman handled my dresses, my skirts, my stockings.
“‘The mischief!’ she exclaimed, ‘you dressed well, didn’t you?’
“Her eyes sparkled so, that a strong feeling of mistrust arose in my mind. She seemed to consider all my property as an unexpected godsend to herself. Her hands trembled as she handled some piece of jewelry; and she took me to the light that she might better estimate the value of my ear-rings.
“And so, when she asked me if I had any money, determined to hide at least my twenty-franc-piece, which was my sole fortune, I replied boldly, ‘No.’
“‘That’s a pity,’ she grumbled.
“But she wished to know my history, and I was compelled to tell it to her. One thing only surprised her,—my age; and in fact, though only thirteen, I looked fully sixteen.
“When I had done,