Frances picked her infant out of the basket, hysterically. She had tried to follow me and had wrestled with a sinewy policeman, who had defeated her. We reached Mrs. Milliken's, where Paul was deposited on his mother's bed, soundly sleeping, and the basket, which it had taxed the good woman's strength and mine to carry upstairs, was placed on the floor. After this, Frieda threw her fat arms around my neck and called me a hero. Frances would have followed suit but, being forestalled, had to content herself with embracing the cleaning lady who, puffing, soon disengaged herself and fanned herself with a newspaper.
"The brigands," she declared, "will soak everything with water, but I have saved most of my customers' things."
She finally went off to spend the night at Eulalie's sister's, leaving the plunder in our care. On the next morning, when Frances went off to work, she found that the fire had invaded a part of the shop, that the plate-glass window was broken and chaos reigned. Félicie was there and deplored the fact that, until insurance matters were adjusted and repairs made, all business would have to be suspended.
The poor girl came home to throw herself on her knees beside little Paul. Then, she bethought herself of me and knocked at my door, hurriedly. I opened it. My face, unfortunately, was covered with lather.
"I—I'm out of work. It—it will be several weeks before Félicie can open the shop again. Oh! What shall I do?"
"My dear child," I said, "you will, for the time being, return to little Paul and let me finish scraping my face. You will also please remember that you have some good friends. As soon as I am shaved, we will hold a session and form ourselves into a Committee of Ways and Means. In the meanwhile remember about the little sparrow falling to the ground."
"I—I'm afraid a cat often gets him," she said sadly, and went back to her room.