You know Madame Croque-Mitaine. You have seen her humped back, her red eyes, her pointed nose, her dark and wrinkled face, her dirty and withered hands, her petticoat of all colours, her sabots, her bag, and that long stick with which she turns up and examines every heap of rubbish she meets with.
At the noise made by the two children in running, she raised her head, looked at them, and guessed, without much difficulty, from their frightened looks, and by the tears which still flowed down Paul's cheeks, and the sobs which swelled the bosom of Louisa, that they ought not to be where they were.
"What are you doing here?" she asked of them.
Louisa, without replying, leaned against the railing, holding Paul still more firmly.
"Have you a tongue?" continued Madame Croque-Mitaine. "You have at all events very good legs to run with," and she took Louisa by the hand, saying, "Hold up your head, my little one, what has happened to you?"
Louisa was so unaccustomed to speak to persons whom she did not know; the stories which her nurse had been foolish enough to repeat to her about old women who take away little children; the wrinkles, the ill-tempered look, the costume, and the first words addressed to her by Madame Croque-Mitaine, had so much terrified her, that notwithstanding the softened tone in which she now spoke to her, Louisa did not dare either to raise her eyes, or to reply.
"Well," said the old woman, "I see that I shall not get a word from them, nevertheless, I will not leave the poor children here. Will you," she said, addressing Paul, "will you tell me where you come from, and where you are going to? Are you also dumb like your sister?"
"We are going to the toy-shop," said Paul.
"And we have lost our way," rejoined Louisa, who began to feel a little less afraid of Madame Croque-Mitaine.
"Your mamma, surely, did not allow you to go out?" continued the old woman.