"I do not know what to do," I answered.
"If mademoiselle is not difficult," she said, "she and the little one could rest with me for a day or two. My bed is clean and soft—bah! ten times softer than these paillasses. I would ask only a franc a night for it. That is much less than at the hotels, where they charge for light and attendance. Mademoiselle could write to her friends, if she has not enough money to carry her and the little one back to their own country."
"I have no friends," I said, despondently.
"No friends! no relations!" she exclaimed.
"Not one," I replied.
"But that is terrible!" she said. "Has mademoiselle plenty of money?"
"Only twelve francs," I answered.
Rosalie's face grew long and grave. This was an abyss of misfortune she had not dreamed of. She looked at us both critically, and did not open her lips again for a minute or two.
"Is the little one your relation?" she inquired, after this pause.
"No," I replied; "I did not know her till I brought her here. She does not know of any friends or relations belonging to her."