t day?"

"Not the slightest, but conducted herself as usual, and was coarse,
rude, and obstinate; but I assure your ladyship that nothing disposes us
more to pity than the observations I have mentioned to you. I am
persuaded (I may deceive myself, perhaps) that, during their sleep,
these unfortunates become better, or rather return to themselves, with
all their faults, it is true, but also with certain good instincts, no
longer masked by the detestable assumption of vice. From all I have
observed, I am led to believe that these creatures are generally less
wicked than they affect to be; and, acting upon this conviction, I have
often attained results it would have been impossible to realise, if I
had entirely despaired of them."

Madame d'Harville could not conceal her surprise at so much good sense,
and so much just reasoning, joined to sentiments of humanity so noble
and so practical, in an obscure inspectress of degraded women.

"But my dear madame," observed Clemence, "you must have a great deal of
courage, and much strength of mind, not to be repulsed by the
ungratefulness of the task, which must so very seldom reward you by
satisfactory results!"

"The consciousness of fulfilling a duty sustains and encourages, and
sometimes we are recompensed by happy discoveries; now and then we find
some rays of light in hearts which have hitherto been supposed to be in
utter darkness."

"Yet, madame, persons like you are very rarely met with?"

"No, I assure your ladyship, others do as I do, with more success and
intelligence than I have. One of the inspectresses of the other division
of St. Lazare, which is occupied by females charged with different
crimes, would interest you much more. She told me this morning of the
arrival of a young girl accused of infanticide. I never heard anything
more distressing. The father of the unhappy girl, a hard-working, honest
lapidary, has gone mad with grief on hearing his daughter's shame. It
seems that nothing could be more frightful than the destitution of all
this family, who lived in a wretched garret in the Rue du Temple."

"The Rue du Temple!" exclaimed Madame d'Harville, much astonished; "what
is the workman's name?"

"His daughter's name is Louise Morel."

"'Tis as I thought, then!"

"She was in the service of a respectable lawyer named M. Jacques
Ferrand."

"This poor family has been recommended to me," said Clemence, blushing;
"but I was far from expecting to see it b