“This girl Henriette was her blind sister’s sole support,” suggested a nurse.
“I had found her––Louise––at the moment 95 when they arrested me,” exclaimed Henriette sorrowfully. “I heard her voice. I saw her. She was covered with rags. Her beautiful golden hair fell in disorder on her shoulders. She was being dragged along by a horrible old woman, who I know ill-treats her––beats her, perhaps, and they would not let me go to her. Now I have lost her forever––forever!”
“Wait a minute, my child,” exclaimed the physician, as a sudden thought flashed over him. “I believe I have met that very same girl.”
“You, monsieur?” exclaimed Henriette in surprise.
“Yes––yes, a young girl led by an old woman who calls her Louise––”
“Yes––yes, that’s her name,” and the young girl became breathless with excitement.
“I know the old woman, too,” continued the Doctor. “She is called La Frochard––an old hag who goes about whining for alms in the name of Heaven and seven small children.
“Where did I last see them?” he mused. Suddenly he recollected a little scene on the steps of Notre Dame one morning before 96 mass. “Oh, yes,” he continued, “they were begging for charity of the churchgoers at Notre Dame. I noticed that the young girl was blind––professionally interested, I examined her pupils and discovered she was merely suffering from cataracts which could be readily removed. I told the old woman so, asked her to bring the girl for treatment to La Force, but they have never shown up––”
“Quick! Quick!” cried Henriette. “Tell me, Doctor, where Mere Frochard lives?”
“Oh, they inhabit an old boathouse at the end of the Rue de Brissac down on the banks of the river Seine. There’s a cellar entrance to their hovel near the Paris-Normandy coach house. But what would you do?” he inquired solicitously.