True, when one is there to make love! but it must be a miserable sojourn when love abandons one there!

I climbed the ladder and found myself in a low, narrow, dark pa.s.sageway; I distinguished a door in front of me; that was where she lived. My heart beat as if I were on the point of committing some evil deed. Why are we no less excited when about to do good than when about to do evil?

I like to believe that the sensation is different.

I approached the door, and was on the point of knocking, when I heard a voice. I listened.

"Yes, you will be warmly wrapped in this, dear child! Another little nightgown; that makes six. Ah! you see, I don't want you to lack anything; you will be my companion, my little companion; you will never leave me, and I shan't be alone any more, then; I shall be very happy; I'll kiss you as much as I choose, all day long, for I shall be the one to nurse you! Some people look as if they pitied me because I am going to be a mother! Ah! they don't understand all the joys and hopes that go with that t.i.tle! Why, if it wasn't for my child, I should be dead! Oh, yes! I should have preferred to die! If it's a girl, I shall call her Marie; that was my mother's name. If it's a boy, I shall call him--I--I don't know yet. edouard's a nice name, or Leon. But not Ernest, in any case! Ah! what a horrible name!"

These last words were uttered in a trembling voice, and I heard nothing more. I knocked gently on the door.

"Who's there? Is it you, Madame Potrelle? Wait a minute, and I'll let you in."

The door opened. It was, in truth, Mignonne, as Fouvenard had described her to us: a pale, fair-haired girl, with soft, blue eyes; but the lips were no longer red, or the complexion rosy; grief and lonely vigils, during an advanced stage of pregnancy, had seamed and emaciated that youthful face, whose habitual expression now was one of melancholy.

Mignonne stood as if struck dumb with amazement at sight of me. I removed my hat and bowed respectfully; I was desirous to inspire her with confidence; but as I did not know what to say, and as she seemed to be waiting for me to speak, we stood for several minutes, looking at each other, without a word.

"Monsieur--you have mistaken the room, I think," faltered Mignonne at last, in an uncertain voice. "You did not mean to come to my room; you came up too high."

"No, mademoi--no, madame; I think that I have not made a mistake. I am looking for Madame Landernoy; are not you she?"

"Yes, monsieur, that is my name. What do you want of me?"

Mignonne spoke in a short, sharp tone, which proved that my visit was not agreeable to her. I was still at the door, and she did not ask me to come in. Perhaps she did not wish me to see the wretched place she lived in, and, in truth, what I did see made my heart bleed, for, without entering, the whole room was visible. It was a tiny room, with no light except from a round hole in the sloping roof, the window being opened or closed by an iron bar, as it was so high as to be out of reach. So that she had no sight of anything but a little patch of sky when she raised her eyes to look out. There was no fireplace, but a small air-tight stove. A bed, a commode, a table, a small buffet, a water pail, and six chairs composed the poor girl's furniture. But everything was neatly arranged and spotlessly clean.

Evidently, in my inspection of the room, I forgot to answer the question she asked me, for it was repeated in a still more imperative tone:

"I asked you what you wanted, monsieur; for I don't know you."

"Oh! I beg pardon, madame! I came to ask you--I am told that you do very fine linen work, and I wanted--I had some work to give you to do, if you chose to undertake it."

"Who told you that I did linen work, monsieur?"

"Why--a lady--for whom you have worked."

"What is the lady's name?"

I was sadly embarra.s.sed. I stammered and stuttered, and finally replied:

"Faith! I really don't remember. The lady told another lady, a friend of hers, who told me, because she knew I wanted some shirts made."

"I am not very skilful, monsieur; and the person I work for must not be very exacting."

"Oh! I am not at all exacting, madame; I want some shirts--to wear in the country. If you had the simplest kind of a pattern to show me."

I took several steps forward; Mignonne allowed me to enter her garret; she seemed to have laid aside her distrust. I was conscious of a secret joy, and, while she was looking in a drawer, I took a chair, saying:

"Excuse me, madame, if I sit down; but I came up rather rapidly, and the stairs are quite steep."

"Pray rest, monsieur; I should have offered you a seat; but my room is not very cheerful, and it never occurs to me to do the honors. Dear me!

I can't find any pattern. I remember now that the day before yesterday I returned the last shirts I had to make. But you have brought me a pattern, no doubt?"

"No; I did not think of it."

"But it is absolutely necessary."

"I will bring you one, then."

"If you will kindly hand it to the lady who gave you my address, monsieur, with the linen for the shirts, I will go there and get them; for, of course, you would not bring the package here yourself."

She was determined to find out who had given me her address. In my earnest desire to obtain her confidence, I said:

"Oh! I thought that you would probably undertake to buy it yourself--the linen, or percale, or Scotch batiste, or what you will; for I don't know anything about it; ladies are better at buying such things than we are.

I can bring you a pattern; I will roll it up and put it in my pocket, and you won't need to put yourself out. In view of your condition, madame, you should avoid fatigue as much as possible."

"But, monsieur, if I go out to buy linen, it won't be any extra trouble to call on the lady; and I can thank her at the same time for thinking about me."

"Oh! that is natural enough! She knew that you could--that you had more claim than most women to her interest. She said to me: 'Mademoiselle Mignonne--that is to say, Madame Landernoy--deserves your full confidence, and I commend her to you.'"

The moment that I mentioned the name of Mignonne, she sprang to her feet from the chair she had taken; her brow clouded, she fixed her eyes on the floor, trembling convulsively, and murmured:

"Who told you, monsieur, that my name was Mignonne? None of the people I have worked for have known me by any other name than that of Madame Landernoy."

"Mon Dieu! I can't remember now, madame. But someone must have told me.

That lady probably learned it by accident."

Mignonne made a slight movement of her shoulders, which I could not interpret as flattering to me. To be sure, for the last minute I had been stumbling and splashing about, with no idea of what I was saying. I saw that I had made an egregious blunder by calling her Mignonne. Of course, her Christian name was not generally known; and, as I knew it, she thought, no doubt, that I was a friend of the man who had so shamelessly betrayed her; perhaps she imagined that Fouvenard had sent me to her. That idea drove me to despair. A fine thing I had done, parbleu! How was I to regain her confidence?

I took two hundred francs from my pocket and handed them to her, saying:

"Here is some money to buy linen with, madame, if you will kindly attend to it. If it is not enough, please let me know----"

Mignonne refused to take the money, saying in a severe tone:

"It's not worth while for you to give me this money, monsieur; I am not in the habit of buying materials myself. Besides, I cannot, at this moment, undertake the work you offer me. I haven't time to do it; I have other work that is more urgent."

I sadly put the money back in my pocket, mumbling:

"But I'm not in any hurry for the shirts, madame; you may make them when you choose."

"No, monsieur; I don't accept work unless I have time to do it.--Adieu, monsieur!"

She had thrown her door wide open, and she stood at one side, apparently inviting me to go. She dismissed me, she was anxious to see the last of me. Clearly, to remain any longer would simply have irritated her more.

I rose and bowed low, but I paused in the doorway to say to her:

"I venture to hope, madame, that I shall be more fortunate another time, and that you will then consent to work for me."

"Yes, monsieur, another time."