imes a nurse's child, and sometimes the child of
people who are not well enough off to keep a nurse in the house. And she
takes these children to some of the rearers in the country. She just now
came to see me before going round to my friend Madame Menoux, whose baby
she is to take away with her."

Valentine became interested. This Madame Menoux was a haberdasher in the
neighborhood and a great friend of Celeste's. She had married a former
soldier, a tall handsome fellow, who now earned a hundred and fifty
francs a month as an attendant at a museum. She was very fond of him,
and had bravely set up a little shop, the profits from which doubled
their income, in such wise that they lived very happily and almost at
their ease. Celeste, who frequently absented herself from her duties to
spend hours gossiping in Madame Menoux's little shop, was forever being
scolded for this practice; but in the present instance Valentine, full
of anxiety and curiosity, did not chide her. The maid was quite proud
at being questioned, and informed her mistress that Madame Menoux's
baby was a fine little boy, and that the mother had been attended by a
certain Madame Rouche, who lived at the lower end of the Rue du Rocher.

"It was I who recommended her," continued the servant, "for a friend of
mine whom she had attended had spoken to me very highly of her. No doubt
she has not such a good position as Madame Bourdieu, who has so handsome
a place in the Rue de Miromesnil, but she is less expensive, and so very
kind and obliging."

Then Celeste suddenly ceased speaking, for she noticed that Mathieu's
eyes were fixed upon her, and this, for reasons best known to herself,
made her feel uncomfortable. He on his side certainly placed no
confidence in this big dark girl with a head like that of a horse, who,
it seemed to him, knew far too much.

Marianne joined in the conversation. "But why," asked she, "why does not
this Madame Menoux, whom you speak about, keep her baby with her?"

Thereupon La Couteau turned a dark harsh glance upon this lady visitor,
who, whatever course she might take herself, had certainly no right to
prevent others from doing business.

"Oh! it's impossible," exclaimed Celeste, well pleased with
the diversion. "Madame Menoux's shop is no bigger than my
pocket-handkerchief, and at the back of it there is only one little room
where she and her husband take their meals and sleep. And that room,
too, overlooks a tiny courtyard