The mother sank back on her mattress, gasping. But weak though she was, she thought of her little girl and smiled.
"The rice is delicious, dear," she said; "you eat it. As you do the work you must feed well. You must be very strong to be able to nurse me, so eat, darling, eat."
Keeping back her tears, Perrine made an effort to eat her dinner. Her mother continued to talk to her. Little by little she stopped crying and all the rice disappeared.
"Why don't you try to eat, mother?" she asked. "I forced myself."
"But I'm ill, dear."
"I think I ought to go and fetch a doctor. We are in Paris now and there are good doctors here."
"Good doctors will not put themselves out unless they are paid."
"We'll pay."
"With what, my child?"
"With our money. You have seven francs in your pocket and a florin which we could change here. I've got 17 sous. Feel in your pocket."