e, with trembling hands,
as if indeed he had had some share of responsibility in this unhappy
business. But Morange, as he confided to Mathieu, was distressed for
other reasons. The scene in the workroom, the revelation of Norine's
condition, the fate awaiting the girl driven away into the bleak,
icy streets, had revived all his own poignant worries with respect to
Valerie. Mathieu had already heard of the latter's trouble from his
wife, and he speedily grasped the accountant's meaning. It vaguely
seemed to him also that Morange was yielding to the same unreasoning
despair as Valerie, and was almost willing that she should take the
desperate course which she had hinted to Marianne. But it was a very
serious matter, and Mathieu did not wish to be in any way mixed up in
it. Having tried his best to pacify the cashier, he sought forgetfulness
of these painful incidents in his work.

That afternoon, however, a little girl, Cecile Moineaud, the old
fitter's youngest daughter, slipped into his office, with a message from
her mother, beseeching him to speak with her. He readily understood
that the woman wished to see him respecting Norine, and in his usual
compassionate way he consented to go. The interview took place in one
of the adjacent streets, down which the cold winter wind was blowing. La
Moineaude was there with Norine and another little girl of hers, Irma,
a child eight years of age. Both Norine and her mother wept abundantly
while begging Mathieu to help them. He alone knew the whole truth, and
was in a position to approach Beauchene on the subject. La Moineaude was
firmly determined to say nothing to her husband. She trembled for his
future and that of her son Alfred, who was now employed at the works;
for there was no telling what might happen if Beauchene's name should be
mentioned. Life was indeed hard enough already, and what would become
of them all should the family bread-winners be turned away from the
factory? Norine certainly had no legal claim on Beauchene, the law being
peremptory on that point; but, now that she had lost her employment, and
was driven from home by her father, could he leave her to die of want in
the streets? The girl tried to enforce her moral claim by asserting that
she had always been virtuous before meeting Beauchene. In any case, her
lot remained a very hard one. That Beauchene was the father of her child
there could be no doubt; and at last Mathieu, without promising success,
told