e family name, a simple black line
filled the allotted space. Then for the Christian names were those of
Angelique Marie; for the dates, born January 22, 1851, admitted the 23rd
of the same month under the registered number of 1,634. So there was
neither father nor mother; there were no papers; not even a statement of
where she was born; nothing but this little book of official coldness,
with its cover of pale red pasteboard. No relative in the world! and
even her abandonment numbered and classed!

"Oh! then she is a foundling!" exclaimed Hubertine.

In a paroxysm of rage the child replied: "I am much better than all
the others--yes--yes! I am better, better, better. I have never taken
anything that did not belong to me, and yet they stole all I had. Give
me back, now, that which you also have stolen from me!"

Such powerless passion, such pride to be above the others in goodness,
so shook the body of the little girl, that the Huberts were startled.
They no longer recognised the blonde creature, with violet eyes and
graceful figure. Now her eyes were black, her face dark, and her neck
seemed swollen by a rush of blood to it. Since she had become warm, she
raised her head and hissed like a serpent that had been picked up on the
snow.

"Are you then really so naughty?" asked Hubert gently. "If we wish to
know all about you, it is because we wish to help you."

And looking over the shoulders of his wife he read as the latter turned
the leaves of the little book. On the second page was the name of the
nurse. "The child, Angelique Marie, had been given, on January 25, 1851,
to the nurse, Francoise, sister of Mr. Hamelin, a farmer by profession,
living in the parish of Soulanges, an arrondissement of Nevers. The
aforesaid nurse had received on her departure the pay for the first
month of her care, in addition to her clothing." Then there was a
certificate of her baptism, signed by the chaplain of the Asylum for
Abandoned Children; also that of the physician on the arrival and on
the departure of the infant. The monthly accounts, paid in quarterly
installments, filled farther on the columns of four pages, and each time
there was the illegible signature of the receiver or collector.

"What! Nevers!" asked Hubertine. "You were brought up near Nevers?"

Angelique, red with anger that she could not prevent them from reading,
had fallen into a sullen silence. But at last she opened her mouth to
speak of her nurse.

"Ah! yo