"According to what I heard in the neighborhood, before I came into his service, you are the daughter of a poor gentleman who came to Paris to follow a lawsuit about ten years ago."
"Yes, dear nurse; I was then five years and some months of age. It seems to me, however, that I still remember my father; he was very good, and he often kissed me."
"And your mother,—do you remember her?"
"Alas, no; but I believe I can still remember the time when my father and I arrived here; we had been a long time in a carriage, and came from far off."
"And M. Touquet lodged you, for then he kept lodgings; and after that?"
"I was very tired; they gave me something to eat and put me to bed in this room, and I have always occupied it since."
"And after that?"
"I did not see my father again. The next day M. Touquet told me he was dead."
"Yes; it was very unfortunate, they say. There were then, as there are very often still, fights in the night between pages and lackeys and honest men, who were often attacked by these cursed scoundrels while entering their own houses. That night they committed a thousand disorders in the streets of Paris; several persons were assassinated; and your poor father, who had gone out, was, while returning, drawn into a brawl, and perished trying to defend himself. That is all that I have learned; do you know anything further?"
"No, Marguerite; besides, you know very well that my protector does not wish me to talk about that."