ats, and abuse. In spite
of myself, I listened to the quarrel, not daring to interfere, and not
thinking of going away, when Michael Arout appeared at the shop-door.

The joiner had just come from the Barriers, where he had passed part of
the day at a public-house. His blouse, without a belt, and untied at the
throat, showed none of the noble stains of work: in his hand he held
his cap, which he had just picked up out of the mud; his hair was in
disorder, his eye fixed, and the pallor of drunkenness in his face. He
came reeling in, looked wildly around him, and called Genevieve.

She heard his voice, gave a start, and rushed into the shop; but at the
sight of the miserable man, who was trying in vain to steady himself,
she pressed the child in her arms, and bent over it with tears.

The countrywoman and the neighbor had followed her.

"Come! come!" cried the former in a rage, "do you intend to pay me,
after all?"

"Ask the master for the money," ironically answered the woman from
the next door, pointing to the joiner, who had just fallen against the
counter.

The countrywoman looked at him.

"Ah! he is the father," returned she. "Well, what idle beggars! not to
have a penny to pay honest people; and get tipsy with wine in that way."

The drunkard raised his head.

"What! what!" stammered he; "who is it that talks of wine? I've had
nothing but brandy! But I am going back again to get some wine! Wife,
give me your money; there are some friends waiting for me at the 'Pere
la Tuille'."

Genevieve did not answer: he went round the counter, opened the till,
and began to rummage in it.

"You see where the money of the house goes!" observed the neighbor to
the countrywoman; "how can the poor unhappy woman pay you when he takes
all?"

"Is that my fault?" replied the nurse, angrily. "They owe to me, and
somehow or other they must pay me!"

And letting loose her tongue, as these women out of the country do, she
began relating at length all the care she had taken of the child, and
all the expense it had been to her. In proportion as she recalled all
she had done, her words seemed to convince her more than ever of her
rights, and to increase her anger. The poor mother, who no doubt feared
that her violence would frighten the child, returned into the back shop,
and put it into its cradle.

Whether it is that the countrywoman saw in this act a determination to
escape her claims, or that she was blinded by passion, I