"And then, my little one, Madame Gouin, you know, is a very amiable and very clever woman. You must go to see her often."
She lingers longer, and adds more mysteriously:
"She has relieved many young girls. As soon as they are in any trouble, they go to her. Neither seen or known. One can trust her, take my word for it. She is a very, very expert woman."
With eyes more brilliant, and fastening her gaze on me with a strange tenacity, she repeats:
"Very expert, and clever, and discreet. She is the Providence of the neighborhood. Now, my little one, do not forget to come to see us when you can. And go often to Madame Gouin's. You will not regret it. We will see each other soon again."
She has gone. I see her, with her rolling gait, moving away, skirting first the wall and then the hedge with her enormous person, and suddenly burying herself in a road, where she disappears.
I pass by Joseph, the gardener-coachman, who is raking the paths. I think that he is going to speak to me; he does not speak to me. He simply looks at me obliquely, with a singular expression that almost frightens me.
"Fine weather this morning, Monsieur Joseph."
Joseph grunts I know not what between his teeth. He is furious that I have allowed myself to walk in the path that he is raking.