Simultaneously, little Perrine and her mother uttered a cry.
"Now, child, leave me alone with your mother," he said in a tone of command.
For a moment Perrine hesitated, but at a sign from her mother she left the wagon and stood just outside.
"I am going to die," said the woman in a low voice.
"Who says that? What you need is nursing, and you can't get that here."
"Could I have my daughter at the hospital?"
"She can see you Thursdays and Sundays."
"What will become of her without me," murmured the mother, "alone in Paris? If I have to die I want to go holding her hand in mine."
"Well, anyway, you can't be left in this cart. The cold nights would be fatal for you. You must take a room. Can you?"
"If it is not for long, perhaps."