"As briefly as possible, I wrote out the history of my life from the day I had been left with the gardeners at Louveciennes. I added to it a faithful account of my present situation; and I addressed the whole to Mme. de Thaller.
"You'll see if she don't come before a day or two,' said the sisters.
"They were mistaken. Mme. de Thaller came neither the next nor the following days; and I was still awaiting her answer, when, one morning, the doctor announced that I was well enough to leave the hospital.
I cannot say that I was very sorry. I had lately made the acquaintance of a young workwoman, who had been sent to the hospital in consequence of a fall, and who occupied the bed next to mine.
She was a girl of about twenty, very gentle, very obliging, and whose amiable countenance had attracted me from the first.
"Like myself, she had no parents. But she was rich, very rich. She owned the furniture of the room, a sewing-machine, which had cost her three hundred francs, and, like a true child of Paris, she understood five or six trades, the least lucrative of which yielded her twenty-five or thirty cents a day. In less than a week, we had become good friends; and, when she left the hospital, "'Believe me,' she said: 'when you come out yourself, don't waste your time looking for a place. Come to me: I can accommodate you.
I'll teach you what I know; and, if you are industrious, you'll make your living, and you'll be free.'
"It was to her room that I went straight from the hospital, carrying, tied in a handkerchief, my entire baggage, - one dress, and a few undergarments that the good sisters had given me.
"She received me like a sister, and after showing me her lodging, two little attic-rooms shining with cleanliness, "'You'll see,' she said, kissing me, 'how happy we'll be here.'
It was getting late. M. Fortin had long ago come up and put out the gas on the stairs. One by one, every noise had died away in the hotel. Nothing now disturbed the silence of the night save the distant sound of some belated cab on the Boulevard. But neither Maxence nor Mlle. Lucienne were noticing the flight of time, so interested were they, one in telling, and the other in listening to, this story of a wonderful existence. However, Mlle. Lucienne' s voice had become hoarse with fatigue. She poured herself a glass of water, which she emptied at a draught, and then at once, "Never yet," she resumed, "had I been agitated by such a sweet sensation. My eyes were full of tears; but they were tears of gratitude and joy. After so many years of isolation, to meet with such a friend, so generous, and so devoted: it was like finding a family. For a few weeks, I thought that fate had relented at last.
My friend was an excellent workwoman; but with some intelligence, and the will to learn, I soon knew as much as she did.
"There was plenty of work. By working twelve hours, with the help of the thrice-blessed sewing-machine, we succeeded in ****** six, seven, and even eight francs a day. It was a fortune.
"Thus several months elapsed in comparative comfort.
"Once more I was afloat, and I had more clothes than I had lost in my trunk. I liked the life I was leading; and I would be leading it still, if my friend had not one day fallen desperately in love with a young man she had meet at a ball. I disliked him very much, and took no trouble to conceal my feelings: nevertheless, my friend imagined that I had designs upon him, and became fiercely, jealous of me. Jealousy does not reason; and I soon understood that we would no longer be able to live in common, and that I must look elsewhere for shelter. But my friend gave me no time to do so.
Coming home one Monday night at about eleven, she notified me to clear out at once. I attempted to expostulate: she replied with abuse. Rather than enter upon a degrading struggle, I yielded, and went out.
That night I spent on a chair in a neighbor's room. But the next day, when I went for my things, my former friend refused to give them, and presumed to keep every thing. I was compelled, though reluctantly, to resort to the intervention of the commissary of police.
I gained my point. But the good days had gone. Luck did not follow me to the wretched furnished house where I hired a room. I had no sewing-machine, and but few acquaintances. By working fifteen or sixteen hours a day, I made thirty or forty cents. That was not enough to live on. Then work failed me altogether, and, piece by piece, every thing I had went to the pawnbroker's. On a gloomy December morning, I was turned out of my room, and left on the pavement with a ten-cent-piece for my fortune.
Never had I been so low; and I know not to what extremities I might have come at last, when I happened to 'think of that wealthy lady whose horses had upset me on the Boulevard. I had kept her card.
Without hesitation, I went unto a grocery, and calling for some paper and a pen, I wrote, overcoming the last struggle of my pride, "'Do you remember, madame, a poor girl whom your carriage came near crushing to death? Once before she applied to you, and received no answer. She is to-day without shelter and without bread; and you are her supreme hope.'
"I placed these few lines in an envelope, and ran to the address indicated on the card. It was a magnificent residence, with a vast court-yard in front. In the porter's lodge, five or six servants were talking as I came in, and looked at me impudently, from head to foot, when I requested them to take my letter to Mme. de Thaller.
One of them, however, took pity on me, "'Come with me,' he said, 'come along !'
"He made me cross the yard, and enter the vestibule; and then, "Give me your letter,' he said, 'and wait here for me.'"
