ad all remained engraved on her memory.
Moreover, she had found that child again, at Rougemont, five days later;
and she even remembered that her friend the hospital-attendant had
left it with La Loiseau. But she had occupied herself no more about it
afterwards; and she believed that it was now dead, like so many others.
When she heard Mathieu speak of the hamlet of Saint-Pierre, of Montoir
the wheelwright, and of Alexandre-Honore, now fifteen, who must be in
apprenticeship there, she evinced great surprise.

"Oh, you must be mistaken, monsieur," she said; "I know Montoir at
Saint-Pierre very well. And he certainly has a lad from the Foundling,
of the age you mention, at his place. But that lad came from La
Cauchois; he is a big carroty fellow named Richard, who arrived at our
village some days before the other. I know who his mother was; she
was an English woman called Amy, who stopped more than once at Madame
Bourdieu's. That ginger-haired lad is certainly not your Norine's boy.
Alexandre-Honore was dark."

"Well, then," replied Mathieu, "there must be another apprentice at the
wheelwright's. My information is precise, it was given me officially."

After a moment's perplexity La Couteau made a gesture of ignorance,
and admitted that Mathieu might be right. "It's possible," said she;
"perhaps Montoir has two apprentices. He does a good business, and as
I haven't been to Saint-Pierre for some months now I can say nothing
certain. Well, and what do you desire of me, monsieur?"

He then gave her very clear instructions. She was to obtain the most
precise information possible about the lad's health, disposition, and
conduct, whether the schoolmaster had always been pleased with him,
whether his employer was equally satisfied, and so forth. Briefly, the
inquiry was to be complete. But, above all things, she was to carry it
on in such a way that nobody should suspect anything, neither the boy
himself nor the folks of the district. There must be absolute secrecy.

"All that is easy," replied La Couteau, "I understand perfectly, and you
can rely on me. I shall need a little time, however, and the best plan
will be for me to tell you of the result of my researches when I next
come to Paris. And if it suits you you will find me to-day fortnight, at
two o'clock, at Broquette's office in the Rue Roquepine. I am quite at
home there, and the place is like a tomb."

Some days later, as Mathieu was again at the Beauchene works wi