fering it was; a heart-pang at
each fresh accusation, as if her husband's illegitimate child had become
in some degree her own! She ended indeed by silencing the nurse-agent.

"Thank you. The boy is no longer at Rougemont, that is all we wished to
know."

La Couteau thereupon turned to Mathieu, continuing her narrative, in
order to give him his money's worth.

"I also made the other apprentice talk a bit," said she; "you know, that
big carroty fellow, Richard, whom I spoke to you about. He's another
whom I wouldn't willingly trust. But it's certain that he doesn't know
where his companion has gone. The gendarmes think that Alexandre is in
Paris."

Thereupon Mathieu in his turn thanked the woman, and handed her a
bank-note for fifty francs--a gift which brought a smile to her face
and rendered her obsequious, and, as she herself put it, "as discreetly
silent as the grave." Then, as three nurses came into the refectory,
and Monsieur Broquette could be heard scrubbing another's hands in the
kitchen, by way of teaching her how to cleanse herself of her native
dirt, Constance felt nausea arise within her, and made haste to follow
her companion away. Once in the street, instead of entering the cab
which was waiting, she paused pensively, haunted by La Couteau's final
words.

"Did you hear?" she exclaimed. "That wretched lad may be in Paris."

"That is probable enough; they all end by stranding here."

Constance again hesitated, reflected, and finally made up her mind to
say in a somewhat tremulous voice: "And the mother, my friend; you know
where she lives, don't you? Did you not tell me that you had concerned
yourself about her?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then listen--and above all, don't be astonished; pity me, for I am
really suffering. An idea has just taken possession of me; it seems to
me that if the boy is in Paris, he may have found his mother. Perhaps he
is with her, or she may at least know where he lodges. Oh! don't tell me
that it is impossible. On the contrary, everything is possible."

Surprised and moved at seeing one who usually evinced so much calmness
now giving way to such fancies as these, Mathieu promised that he would
make inquiries. Nevertheless, Constance did not get into the cab, but
continued gazing at the pavement. And when she once more raised her
eyes, she spoke to him entreatingly, in an embarrassed, humble manner:
"Do you know what we ought to do? Excuse me, but it is a service I shall
never