"Hush! let Ursule finish, my child!"
"Finally, mademoiselle, one of my ancestors, who lived then had the good fortune to get a morsel of the pious hermit's robe. She left it to her daughter after her, who left it to my mother, from whom I have it; and that is how this talisman came to me and it is that which makes me afraid of nothing in Paris, and with which I dare risk myself alone in the streets at night."
"Oh, how singular!" cried Blanche, "that's like me; I also have a talisman which preserves me from all danger, however, they won't even let me look out of the window. That's because my protector, the barber, does not believe in talismans."
"He's very wrong, mademoiselle," said Urbain.
"Yes, assuredly he is," said Marguerite, "but, my dear child, have you yours on you now?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. Oh, I always carry it."
"Let us see this precious relic. Only to touch it will do one good."
Urbain felt in his apron pocket and drew forth a small paper folded with great care; he opened it and took out a sample of his breeches which he presented to the old servant, pinching his lips to keep a serious face. Marguerite who had put on her glasses took the little scrap of cloth respectfully, and kissed it three times, crying,—
"That's it, oh, how good that is! that emits an odor all about it, an odor of sanctity."
"Do you think so, dear nurse," said Blanche, who was looking at the little sample of cloth in surprise, "I should never have thought that a little rag like that could have any power."