"How strange!" said the girl, "when I hear her speak that name, it seems to me the voice is familiar."
"Come, Cinette!"
This time the girl entered the room. She beheld a woman vainly seeking to raise herself in her bed.
Her face was hideously scarred and seared, while the bloodshot eyes could not endure the light. It was clear that the poor creature had been the victim of a horrible accident.
"I am thirsty," she faintly articulated.
"Yes, mamma," answered the girl who was called Cinette.
And the woman smiled. She was mad in addition to her helplessness. No one knew who she was, nor whence she came.
The reader has recognized in the girl who ministered to her needs, little Cinette, the child of Simon Fougère and Françoise. She had run distractedly through those subterranean vaults when she lost Jacques, and finally escaped from the labyrinth to fall into the hands of those people whom Hugo has immortalized.
These people—a husband, wife and children—were pillaging the dead on a battle-field, but when Cinette appeared they smiled upon her.
The little girl could give no explanation as to why she was thus alone and deserted. To all questions she could only reply by the words "papa Simon," and "mamma Françoise." Of course this was too indefinite for these people to act upon; besides, at that time they had much to do—the invasion promised them much spoil. They took Cinette away, and after the peace they continued to keep her. They had amassed quite a little property, and bought a farm in Blaisois. Cinette was happy in these days, for she was too young to remember her woes.