"Yes, very much. Thank you, my child."
"Then I will take my work and sit over there by the window. It is so dark to-day, and my work is particular."
"What are you making?"
"Such an exquisite chemise of the finest linen lawn, godmother. Madame Jourdan told me I must be very careful with it. The lace alone I am to put on it is worth two hundred francs, which will make the cost of each garment at least three hundred francs, and there are two dozen of them to be made. They are for some kept woman, I believe," added Mariette, naïvely.
The sick woman gave a sarcastic laugh.
"What are you laughing at, godmother?" inquired the girl, in surprise.
"A droll idea that just occurred to me."
"And what was it, godmother?" inquired Mariette, rather apprehensively, for she knew the usual character of Madame Lacombe's pleasantries.
"I was thinking how encouraging it was to virtue that an honest girl like yourself, who has only two or three patched chemises to her back, should be earning twenty sous a day by making three hundred franc chemises for—Oh, well, work away, child, I'll try to dream of a rest from my sufferings."
And the sick woman turned her face to the wall and said no more.