h heavy blows that I
thought they were dead, as they both fell on the floor of their room.
For a long time I had determined to run away. But I was anxious to have
my book. Maman Nini had often said, in showing it to me: 'Look, this is
all that you own, and if you do not keep this you will not even have a
name.' And I know that since the death of Maman Theresa they had hid
it in one of the bureau drawers. So stepping over them as quietly as
possible, while they were lying on the floor, I got the book, hid it
under my dress-waist, pressing it against me with my arm. It seemed so
large that I fancied everyone must see it, and that it would be taken
from me. Oh! I ran, and ran, and ran, and when night came it was so
dark! Oh! how cold I was under the poor shelter of that great door! Oh
dear! I was so cold, it seemed as if I were dead. But never mind now,
for I did not once let go of my book, and here it is." And with a sudden
movement, as the Huberts closed it to give it back to her, she snatched
it from them. Then, sitting down, she put her head on the table, sobbing
deeply as she laid her cheek on the light red cover. Her pride seemed
conquered by an intense humility. Her whole being appeared to
be softened by the sight of these few leaves with their rumpled
corners--her solitary possession, her one treasure, and the only tie
which connected her with the life of this world. She could not relieve
her heart of her great despair; her tears flowed continually, and under
this complete surrender of herself she regained her delicate looks and
became again a pretty child. Her slightly oval face was pure in its
outlines, her violet eyes were made a little paler from emotion, and the
curve of her neck and shoulders made her resemble a little virgin on a
church window. At length she seized the hand of Hubertine, pressed it to
her lips most caressingly, and kissed it passionately.

The Huberts were deeply touched, and could scarcely speak. They
stammered: "Dear, dear child!"

She was not, then, in reality bad! Perhaps with affectionate care she
could be corrected of this violence of temper which had so alarmed them.

In a tone of entreaty the poor child exclaimed: "Do not send me back to
those dreadful people! Oh, do not send me back again!"

The husband and wife looked at each other for a few moments. In fact,
since the autumn they had planned taking as an apprentice some young
girl who would live with them, and thus bring a litt