ine wanted. Three
cardboard boxes were placed in pigeon-holes beneath the bookcase. These
also were vainly explored, and Florine, with a gesture of vexation,
looked and listened anxiously; then, seeing a chest of drawers, she
made therein a fresh and useless search. Near the foot of the bed was
a little door, leading to a dressing-room. Florine entered it, and
looked--at first without success--into a large wardrobe, in which were
suspended several black dresses, recently made for Mother Bunch,
by order of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Perceiving, at the bottom of this
wardrobe, half hidden beneath a cloak, a very shabby little trunk,
Florine opened it hastily, and found there, carefully folded up, the
poor old garments in which the work-girl had been clad when she first
entered this opulent mansion.

Florine started--an involuntary emotion contracted her features; but
considering that she had not liberty to indulge her feelings, but only
to obey Rodin's implacable orders, she hastily closed both trunk and
wardrobe, and leaving the dressing-room, returned into the bed-chamber.
After having again examined the writing-stand, a sudden idea occurred to
her. Not content with once more searching the cardboard boxes, she drew
out one of them from the pigeon-hole, hoping to find what she sought
behind the box: her first attempt failed, but the second was more
successful. She found behind the middle box a copy-book of considerable
thickness. She started in surprise, for she had expected something else;
yet she took the manuscript, opened it, and rapidly turned over
the leaves. After having perused several pages, she manifested her
satisfaction, and seemed as if about to put the book in her pocket; but
after a moment's reflection, she replaced it where she had found it,
arranged everything in order, took her candle, and quitted the apartment
without being discovered--of which, indeed, she had felt pretty sure,
knowing that Mother Bunch would be occupied with Mdlle. de Cardoville
for some hours.

The day after Florine's researches, Mother Bunch, alone in her bed
chamber, was seated in an arm-chair, close to a good fire. A thick
carpet covered the floor; through the window-curtains could be seen the
lawn of a large garden; the deep silence was only interrupted by the
regular ticking of a clock, and the crackling of the wood. Her
hands resting on the arms of the chair, she gave way to a feeling of
happiness, such as she had never so comple