"Well, Pomponne, well! What did Madame Potrelle say?"
"Ah! yes, that's the concierge's name; it had escaped me. She said: 'Be good enough to ask Monsieur Rochebrune to come as soon as possible—to-day, if he has a minute—to my young tenant; for she's in great trouble.'—I was going to ask her why the young woman was in trouble, but she didn't give me time; she went away again, saying: 'I'm in a hurry, I ran all the way.'—To be sure, if she had run all the way from Rue Ménilmontant——"
I listened to no more from Pomponne. I left the house at once and hurried to Mignonne's abode. I found the concierge below.
"What is there new, Madame Potrelle? Do you want money?"
"Oh, no! it ain't that, monsieur; but that poor mother—her child's much sicker. The doctor told me there wasn't any hope, but I haven't told Madame Landernoy that, for it would kill her too, she's so unhappy already! I don't know what to do to encourage her, and I thought of you, monsieur."
I made no reply, but went up to Mignonne's room. My heart was very heavy; still, I felt that I must try to bring back a little hope to her heart.
I arrived under the eaves. The door was still open and Mignonne was kneeling by the cradle, as at my previous visit; but she was not singing; everything was perfectly still. The young mother, with her eyes fixed on her child, seemed to be watching for some gleam of hope on her face or in her breathing.
I stepped into the room; Mignonne did not even turn her head.
"Excuse me, madame," I said, approaching the cradle; "will you allow me to examine your little girl?"
The young woman glanced at me, with eyes dim with tears, and murmured: