e bed-clothes straight again; and, by way of sending the children to
sleep, she would administer a box on the ear to both of them. For a long
time their bed was a sort of playground. They carried their toys into
it, and munched stolen carrots and turnips as they lay side by side.
Every morning their adopted mother was amazed at the strange things she
found in the bed--pebbles, leaves, apple cores, and dolls made out of
scraps of rags. When the very cold weather came, she went off to her
work, leaving them sleeping there, Cadine's black mop mingling with
Marjolin's sunny curls, and their mouths so near together that they
looked as though they were keeping each other warm with their breath.

The room in the Rue au Lard was a big, dilapidated garret, with a single
window, the panes of which were dimmed by the rain. The children would
play at hide-and-seek in the tall walnut wardrobe and underneath Mother
Chantemesse's colossal bed. There were also two or three tables in the
room, and they crawled under these on all fours. They found the place a
very charming playground, on account of the dim light and the vegetables
scattered about in the dark corners. The street itself, too, narrow and
very quiet, with a broad arcade opening into the Rue de la Lingerie,
provided them with plenty of entertainment. The door of the house was by
the side of the arcade; it was a low door and could only be opened half
way owing to the near proximity of the greasy corkscrew staircase. The
house, which had a projecting pent roof and a bulging front, dark with
damp, and displaying greenish drain-sinks near the windows of each
floor, also served as a big toy for the young couple. They spent their
mornings below in throwing stones up into the drain-sinks, and the
stones thereupon fell down the pipes with a very merry clatter. In thus
amusing themselves, however, they managed to break a couple of windows,
and filled the drains with stones, so that Mother Chantemesse, who had
lived in the house for three and forty years, narrowly escaped being
turned out of it.

Cadine and Marjolin then directed their attention to the vans and drays
and tumbrels which were drawn up in the quiet street. They clambered on
to the wheels, swung from the dangling chains, and larked about amongst
the piles of boxes and hampers. Here also were the back premises of the
commission agents of the Rue de la Poterie--huge, gloomy warehouses,
each day filled and emptied afresh, and