her senses."

"Unfortunate girl!" said Adrienne, with emotion; and for the moment she
forgot Rose-Pompon.

"We must keep this sad news from Mother Bunch, and only let her know it
hereafter, with great caution," resumed Agricola. "Luckily, little Rose
Pompon knows nothing about it."

And he pointed to the grisette, who was now stooping down by the side
of the workgirl. On hearing Agricola speak so familiarly of Rose-Pompon,
Adrienne's amazement increased. It is impossible to describe what she
felt; yet, strangely enough, her sufferings grew less and less, and her
anxiety diminished, as she listened to the chatter of the grisette.

"Oh, my good dear!" said the latter, with as much volubility as emotion,
while her pretty blue eyes were filled with tears; "is it possible that
you did so stupid a thing? Do not poor people help one another? Could
you not apply to me? You knew that others are welcome to whatever is
mine, and I would have made a raffle of Philemon's bazaar," added this
singular girl, with a burst of feeling, at once sincere, touching, and
grotesque; "I would have sold his three boots, pipes, boating-costume,
bed, and even his great drinking-glass, and at all events you should not
have been brought to such an ugly pass. Philemon would not have minded,
for he is a good fellow; and if he had minded, it would have been all
the same. Thank heaven! we are not married. I am only wishing to remind
you that you should have thought of little Rose-Pompon."

"I know you are obliging and kind, miss," said Mother Bunch: for she had
heard from her sister that Rose-Pompon, like so many of her class, had a
warm and generous heart.

"After all," resumed the grisette, wiping with the back of her hand the
tip of her little nose, down which a tear was trickling, "you may tell
me that you did not know where I had taken up my quarters. It's a queer
story, I can tell you. When I say queer," added Rose-Pompon, with a deep
sigh, "it is quite the contrary--but no matter: I need not trouble you
with that. One thing is certain; you are getting better--and you and
Cephyse will not do such a thing again. She is said to be very weak. Can
I not see her yet, M. Agricola?

"No," said the smith, with embarrassment, for Mother Bunch kept her eyes
fixed upon him; "you must have patience."

"But I may see her to-day, Agricola?" exclaimed the hunchback.

"We will talk about that. Only be calm, I entreat."

"Agricola is right; you must be