The woman held it in her hand. "Oh!" she wailed, and sliding down upon the sofa, found her handkerchief.
"Mais non!" said Julien, "you who have so much courage!"
"But it was my own face!" she cried incoherently, holding out the little pot. "My poor little cream pot!"
"What!"
"It was my face cream!"
"How strange!"
"I had not used it for a week because they had recommended me a new one.
Ah! miraculous! that so small a thing should follow me!"
She touched her eyes carefully with her handkerchief, but a live tear had fallen on the waistcoat.
"Tell me, mademoiselle … sit down beside me, my dear … the poor little house is no more good to me? I couldn't live there? Is there a roof?"
"You couldn't live in it."