"Not the slightest, but conducted herself as usual, and was coarse, rude, and obstinate; but I assure your ladyship that nothing disposes us more to pity than the observations I have mentioned to you. I am persuaded (I may deceive myself, perhaps) that, during their sleep, these unfortunates become better, or rather return to themselves, with all their faults, it is true, but also with certain good instincts, no longer masked by the detestable assumption of vice. From all I have observed, I am led to believe that these creatures are generally less wicked than they affect to be; and, acting upon this conviction, I have often attained results it would have been impossible to realise, if I had entirely despaired of them."
Madame d'Harville could not conceal her surprise at so much good sense, and so much just reasoning, joined to sentiments of humanity so noble and so practical, in an obscure inspectress of degraded women.
"But my dear madame," observed Clémence, "you must have a great deal of courage, and much strength of mind, not to be repulsed by the ungratefulness of the task, which must so very seldom reward you by satisfactory results!"
"The consciousness of fulfilling a duty sustains and encourages, and sometimes we are recompensed by happy discoveries; now and then we find some rays of light in hearts which have hitherto been supposed to be in utter darkness."
"Yet, madame, persons like you are very rarely met with?"
"No, I assure your ladyship, others do as I do, with more success and intelligence than I have. One of the inspectresses of the other division of St. Lazare, which is occupied by females charged with different crimes, would interest you much more. She told me this morning of the arrival of a young girl accused of infanticide. I never heard anything more distressing. The father of the unhappy girl, a hard-working, honest lapidary, has gone mad with grief on hearing his daughter's shame. It seems that nothing could be more frightful than the destitution of all this family, who lived in a wretched garret in the Rue du Temple."
"The Rue du Temple!" exclaimed Madame d'Harville, much astonished; "what is the workman's name?"
"His daughter's name is Louise Morel."
"'Tis as I thought, then!"
"She was in the service of a respectable lawyer named M. Jacques Ferrand."