"She never behaved unkindly to me," resumed Cécile. "I pity her with all my heart, and I have been to see her. I am taking her a little chocolate now. Ah! if you only saw her little boy! he is a perfect love!"
The poor girl's eyes shone, and her thin, pale face became radiant with a smile. The instinct of maternity remained keen within her, though she could never be a mother.
"What a pity it is," she continued, "that Norine is so obstinately determined on getting rid of the baby, just as she got rid of the others. This little fellow, it's true, cries so much that she has had to give him the breast. But it's only for the time being; she says that she can't see him starve while he remains near her. But it quite upsets me to think that one can get rid of one's children; I had an idea of arranging things very differently. You know that I want to leave my parents, don't you? Well, I thought of renting a room and of taking my sister and her little boy with me. I would show Norine how to cut out and paste up those little boxes, and we might live, all three, happily together."
"And won't she consent?" asked Mathieu.
"Oh! she told me that I was mad; and there's some truth in that, for I have no money even to rent a room. Ah! if you only knew how it distresses me."
Mathieu concealed his emotion, and resumed in his quiet way: "Well, there are rooms to be rented. And you would find a friend to help you. Only I am much afraid that you will never persuade your sister to keep her child, for I fancy that I know her ideas on that subject. A miracle would be needed to change them."
Quick-witted as she was, Cécile darted a glance at him. The friend he spoke of was himself. Good heavens would her dream come true? She ended by bravely saying: "Listen, monsieur; you are so kind that you really ought to do me a last favor. It would be to come with me and see Norine at once. You alone can talk to her and prevail on her perhaps. But let us walk slowly, for I am stifling, I feel so happy."
Mathieu, deeply touched, walked on beside her. They turned the corner of the Rue de Miromesnil, and his own heart began to beat as they climbed the stairs of Madame Bourdieu's establishment. Ten years ago! Was it possible? He recalled everything that he had seen and heard in that house. And it all seemed to date from yesterday, for the building had not changed; indeed, he fancied that he could recognize the very grease-spots on the doors on the various landings.
Following Cécile to Norine's room, he found Norine up and dressed, but seated at the side of her bed and nursing her babe.
"What! is it you, monsieur?" she exclaimed, as soon as she recognized her visitor. "It is very kind of Cécile to have brought you. Ah! mon Dieu what a lot of things have happened since I last saw you! We are none of us any the younger."