"Oh, the wicked man!" said Mother Arsene.

"I went home all in tears, and my poor aunt encouraged me not to yield,
and she would try to place me elsewhere. Yes--but it was impossible;
the factories were all full. Misfortunes never come single; my aunt fell
ill, and there was not a sou in the house; I plucked up my courage, and
returned to entreat the mercy of the clerk at the factory. Nothing would
do. 'So much the worse,' said he; 'you are throwing away your luck. If
you had been more complying, I should perhaps have married you.' What
could I do, Mother Arsene?--misery was staring me in the face; I had no
work; my aunt was ill; the clerk said he would marry me--I did like so
many others."

"And when, afterwards, you spoke to him about marriage?"

"Of course he laughed at me, and in six months left me. Then I wept
all the tears in my body, till none remained--then I was very ill--and
then--I console myself, as one may console one's self for anything.
After some changes, I met with Philemon. It is upon him that I revenge
myself for what others have done to me. I am his tyrant," added
Rose-Pompon, with a tragic air, as the cloud passed away which had
darkened her pretty face during her recital to Mother Arsene.

"It is true," said the latter thoughtfully. "They deceive a poor
girl--who is there to protect or defend her? Oh! the evil we do does not
always come from ourselves, and then--"

"I spy Ninny Moulin!" cried Rose-Pompon, interrupting the greengrocer,
and pointing to the other side of the street. "How early abroad! What
can he want with me?" and Rose wrapped herself still more closely and
modestly in her cloak.

It was indeed Jacques Dumoulin, who advanced with his hat stuck on one
side, with rubicund nose and sparkling eye, dressed in a loose coat,
which displayed the rotundity of his abdomen. His hands, one of which
held a huge cane shouldered like a musket, were plunged into the vast
pockets of his outer garment.

Just as he reached the threshold of the door, no doubt with the
intention of speaking to the portress, he perceived Rose-Pompon. "What!"
he exclaimed, "my pupil already stirring? That is fortunate. I came on
purpose to bless her at the rise of morn!"

So saying, Ninny Moulin advanced with open arms towards Rose-Pompon who
drew back a step.

"What, ungrateful child!" resumed the writer on divinity. "Will you
refuse me the morning's paternal kiss?"

"I accept paternal kisses from none but Ph