tinued the old woman, rambling
on. "Of course, it's all the same to me. As long as he pays, my
gentleman--"

"Well, good-bye, Mother Fetu," said Helene, in whose throat a feeling
of suffocation was gathering.

She was burning to get away, but on opening a door she found herself
threading three small rooms, the bareness and dirt of which were
repulsive. The paper hung in tatters from the walls, the ceilings were
grimy, and old plaster littered the broken floors. The whole place was
pervaded by a smell of long prevalent squalor.

"Not that way! not that way!" screamed Mother Fetu. "That door is
generally shut. These are the other rooms which they haven't attempted
to clean. My word! it's cost him quite enough already! Yes, indeed,
these aren't nearly so nice! Come this way, my good lady--come this
way!"

On Helene's return to the pink boudoir, she stopped to kiss her hand
once more.

"You see, I'm not ungrateful! I shall never forget the shoes. How well
they fit me! and how warm they are! Why, I could walk half-a-dozen
miles with them. What can I beg Heaven to grant you? O Lord, hearken
to me, and grant that she may be the happiest of women--in the name of
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" A devout enthusiasm had
suddenly come upon Mother Fetu; she repeated the sign of the cross
again and again, and bowed the knee in the direction of the crystal
lamp. This done, she opened the door conducting to the landing, and
whispered in a changed voice into Helene's ear:

"Whenever you like to call, just knock at the kitchen door; I'm always
there!"

Dazed, and glancing behind her as though she were leaving a place of
dubious repute, Helene hurried down the staircase, reascended the
Passage des Eaux, and regained the Rue Vineuse, without consciousness
of the ground she was covering. The old woman's last words still rang
in her ears. In truth, no; never again would she set foot in that
house, never again would she bear her charity thither. Why should she
ever rap at the kitchen door again? At present she was satisfied; she
had seen what was to be seen. And she was full of scorn for herself
--for everybody. How disgraceful to have gone there! The recollection of
the place with its tawdry finery and squalid surroundings filled her
with mingled anger and disgust.

"Well, madame," exclaimed Rosalie, who was awaiting her return on the
staircase, "the dinner will be nice. Dear, oh dear! it's been burning
for half an hour