her to pass out.

Once more the street and the sunshine and the hurry of passing
strangers, each pressing by about his or her concerns. Again she
stood a little while in the doorway, regarding the thronged urgency
that surged in spate between the high, handsome buildings, every unit
of it wearing the air of being bound towards some place where it was
needed, while she alone was unwanted.

"I think," considered Annette, "that I ought to have some coffee or
something, since it's the last day."

She looked down along the street; not far away the awning of a cafe
showed red and white above the sidewalk, sheltering its row of little
tables, and she walked slowly towards it. How often in the last six
weeks, footsore and leaden-hearted, had she passed such places,
feeling the invitation of their ease and refreshment in every jarred
and crying nerve of her body, yet resisting it for the sake of the
centimes it would cost.

She took a chair in the back row of seats, behind a small iron table,
slackening her muscles and leaning back, making the mere act of
sitting down yield her her money's worth. The shadow of the awning
turned the day to a benign coolness; there was a sense of privilege
in being thus at rest in the very street, at the elbow of its
passers-by. A crop-headed German waiter brought the cafe au lait
which she ordered, and set it on the table before her two metal jugs,
a cup and saucer, a little glass dish of sugar, and a folded napkin.
The cost was half a franc; she gave him a franc, bade him keep the
change, and was rewarded with half a smile, half a bow, and a "Merci
beaucoup, madame!" which in themselves were a balm to her spirit,
bruised by insult and failure. The coffee was hot; its fragrance
gushed up from her cup; since her last situation had failed her she
was tasting for the first time food that was appetizing and dainty.

She lifted the cup. "A short life and a merry one," she murmured,
toasting herself before she drank.

Six francs remained to her, and there were yet three employers to
visit. The lady in need of a governess and the shop which required a
cashier were at opposite ends of Paris; the establishment which
desired a young lady for "reception" was between the two. Annette,
surveying the field', decided to reserve the "reception" to the last.
She finished her coffee, flavoring to the last drop the warm
stimulation of it; then, having built up again her hopeful mood, she
set out anew.

I