Going into the street that night, he met the mistress of the house, a fat, rosy-cheeked peasant.
The little girl was with her; they stood half-bent, picking up the droppings before the house with pitchforks.
"Can she sew, scrub, make soup?" he asked abruptly.
"Who, Pierrette? Why shouldn't she?"
"Does she know anything of all that?"
"Why not? She is a foundling; she came from the hospital; they teach them to take care of themselves."
"I say! little one, you are not afraid of me, are you? No, I would not hurt you! What do you think of it, madame? May I take her? I need a servant."
"You may take her if you will feed and clothe her."
"Agreed! Here are four dollars; buy her a dress and a shoe; let her put them on at once. To-morrow we will draw up papers."
Then, amiably tapping the child upon the cheek, he went away, twirling his cane—it was just such a moulinet as he had made with his sabre.