It was impossible that Mlle. Lucienne should not be deeply moved whilst thus stirring the ashes of her past. She showed no evidence of it, however, except, now and then, a slight alteration in her voice.
As to Maxence, he would vainly have tried to conceal the passionate interest with which he was listening to these unexpected confidences.
"Have you, then, never seen your benefactress again?" he asked.
"Never," replied Mlle. Lucienne. "All my efforts to reach her have proved fruitless. She does not live in Paris now. I have written to her: my letters have remained without answer. Did she ever get them? I think not. Something tells me that she has not forgotten me."
She remained silent for a few moments, as if collecting herself before resuming the thread of her narrative. And then, "It was thus brutally," she resumed, "that I was sent off. It would have been useless to beg, I knew; and, moreover, I have never known how to beg. I piled up hurriedly in two trunks and in some bandboxes all I had in the world, - all I had received from the generosity of my poor mistress; and, before the stated hour, I was ready. The cook and the chambermaid had already gone. The man who was treating me so cruelly was waiting for me. He helped me carry out my boxes and trunks, after which he locked the door, put the key in his pocket; and, as the American omnibus was passing, he beckoned to it to stop. And then, before entering it, Good luck, my pretty girl !' he said with a laugh.
"This was in the month of January, 1866. I was just thirteen. I have had since more terrible trials, and I have found myself in much more desperate situations: but I do not remember ever feeling such intense discouragement as I did that day, when I found myself alone upon that road, not knowing which way to go. I sat down on one of my trunks. The weather was cold and gloomy: there were few persons on the road. They looked at me, doubtless wondering what I was doing there. I wept. I had a vague feeling that the well-meant kindness of my poor benefactress, in bestowing upon me the blessings of education, would in reality prove a serious impediment in the life-struggle which I was about to begin again. I thought of what I suffered with the laundress; and, at the idea of the tortures which the future still held in store for me, I desired death. The Seine was near: why not put an end at once to the miserable existence which I foresaw?
"Such were my reflections, when a woman from Rueil, a vegetable-vender, whom I knew by sight, happened to pass, pushing her hand-cart before her over the muddy pavement. She stopped when she saw me; and, in the softest voice she could command.
"'What are you doing there, my darling?' she asked.
"In a few words I explained to her my situation. She seemed more surprised than moved.
"'Such is life,' she remarked, -' sometimes up, sometimes down.'
"And, stepping up nearer, "'What do you expect to do now?' she interrogated in a tone of voice so different from that in which she had spoken at first, that I felt more keenly the horror of my altered situation.
"'I have no idea,' I replied.
"After thinking for a moment, "'You can't stay there,' she resumed: 'the gendarmes would arrest you. Come with me. We will talk things over at the house; and I'll give you my advice.'
"I was so completely crushed, that I had neither strength nor will.
Besides, what was the use of thinking? Had I any choice of resolutions? Finally, the woman's offer seemed to me a last favor of destiny.
"'I shall do as you say, madame,' I replied:
"She proceeded at once to load up my little baggage on her cart.
We started; and soon we arrived 'home.'
"What she called thus was a sort of cellar, at least twelve inches lower than the street, receiving its only light through the glass door, in which several broken panes had been replaced by sheets of paper. It was revoltingly filthy, and filled with a sickening odor.
On all sides were heaps of vegetables, - cabbages, potatoes, onions.
In one corner a nameless heap of decaying rags, which she called her bed; in the centre, a small cast-iron stove, the worn-out pipe of which allowed the smoke to escape in the room.
"Anyway,' she said to me, 'you have a home now!'
"I helped her to unload the cart. She filled the stove with coal, and at once declared that she wanted to inspect my things.
"My trunks were opened; and it was with exclamations of surprise that the woman handled my dresses, my skirts, my stockings.
"'The mischief!' she exclaimed, 'you dressed well, didn't you?'
"Her eyes sparkled so, that a strong feeling of mistrust arose in my mind. She seemed to consider all my property as an unexpected godsend to herself. Her hands trembled as she handled some piece of jewelry; and she took me to the light that she might better estimate the value of my ear-rings.
"And so, when she asked me if I had any money, determined to hide at least my twenty-franc-piece, which was my sole fortune, I replied boldly, 'No.'
That's a pity,' she grumbled.
"But she wished to know my history, and I was compelled to tell it to her. One thing only surprised her, - my age; and in fact, though only thirteen, I looked fully sixteen.
"When I had done, "'Never mind!' she said. 'It was lucky for you that you met me.
You are at least certain now of eating every day; for I am going to take charge of you. I am getting old: you'll help me to drag my cart. If you are as smart as you are pretty, we'll make money.'
