The girl looked at her with sad eyes.
“Ah! I see,—in the soup. Well, it arrives to all the world. One day up, another down. Come and give me a hand with my shutters. Sapristi! what it is not to have a man in the business.”
Margot helped the woman to take down the shutters. Over the shop was painted the sign:
A LA MÈRE TRANQUILLE,
and this sign was repeated on the window and the door. Inside there was a circular bar lined with zinc; and around it half a dozen marble-topped tables.
“Now, come in, dearie,” said the little hunchback. “I’m just going to sit down to breakfast, and you are going to join me.”
With that she took the girl by the arm and led her behind the bar. They had fresh rolls and butter, and hot fragrant coffee. The girl devoured the food as if famished and the woman watched her curiously.
“You certainly are hungry, my child,” she observed. “It’s good to see you eat. You look tired too, as if you had been out all night. From the country, aren’t you?”
Encouraged by the little woman’s sympathy the girl told her story. When she had finished the Mère Tranquille looked at her thoughtfully.
“Just so,” she said, “a poor, pretty girl alone in Paris is about as safe as a young lamb lost among wolves. You’ll get devoured, my dear, as sure as sure. Look here, I can see you’re an honest girl. I tell you what. I need some one to help me here. Come and stay with me for a while,—at least till you find something better. You will live with me and help me in the bar. You shall be at no expense and you can make four or five francs a day in tips. Will you come?”