he more they earn.
And so one can understand that La Couteau always wants to take back as
many babies as possible at each journey she makes."

Victoire recounted these dreadful things in her simple way, as one
whom Paris has not yet turned into a liar, and who says all she knows,
careless what it may be.

"And it seems things were far worse years ago," she continued. "I have
heard my father say that, in his time, the agents would bring back four
or five children at one journey--perfect parcels of babies, which they
tied together and carried under their arms. They set them out in rows
on the seats in the waiting-rooms at the station; and one day, indeed, a
Rougemont agent forgot one child in a waiting-room, and there was quite
a row about it, because when the child was found again it was dead.
And then you should have seen in the trains what a heap of poor little
things there was, all crying with hunger. It became pitiable in winter
time, when there was snow and frost, for they were all shivering and
blue with cold in their scanty, ragged swaddling-clothes. One or another
often died on the way, and then it was removed at the next station and
buried in the nearest cemetery. And you can picture what a state those
who didn't die were in. At our place we care better for our pigs, for we
certainly wouldn't send them travelling in that fashion. My father
used to say that it was enough to make the very stones weep. Nowadays,
however, there's more supervision; the regulations allow the agents
to take only one nursling back at a time. But they know all sorts of
tricks, and often take a couple. And then, too, they make arrangements;
they have women who help them, and they avail themselves of those who
may be going back into the country alone. Yes, La Couteau has all sorts
of tricks to evade the law. And, besides, all the folks of Rougemont
close their eyes--they are too much interested in keeping business
brisk; and all they fear is that the police may poke their noses into
their affairs. Ah! it is all very well for the Government to send
inspectors every month, and insist on registers, and the Mayor's
signature and the stamp of the Commune; why, it's just as if it did
nothing. It doesn't prevent these women from quietly plying their trade
and sending as many little ones as they can to kingdom-come. We've got
a cousin at Rougemont who said to us one day: 'La Malivoire's precious
lucky, she got rid of four more during last month.'