en sleeping, since Mother Moineaud had died at
a hospital exhausted by her long life of wretchedness and family cares
which had proved far too heavy for her. She was only sixty at the
time of her death, but was as bent and as worn out as a centenarian.
Moineaud, two years older, bent like herself, his legs twisted by
paralysis, a lamentable wreck after fifty years of unjust toil, had been
obliged to quit the factory, and thus the home was empty, and its few
poor sticks had been cast to the four winds of heaven.

Moineaud fortunately received a little pension, for which he was
indebted to Denis's compassionate initiative. But he was sinking into
second childhood, worn out by his long and constant efforts, and not
only did he squander his few coppers in drink, but he could not be left
alone, for his feet were lifeless, and his hands shook to such a degree
that he ran the risk of setting all about him on fire whenever he tried
to light his pipe. At last he found himself stranded in the home of his
daughters, Norine and Cecile, the only two who had heart enough to take
him in. They rented a little closet for him, on the fifth floor of the
house, over their own room, and they nursed him and bought him food and
clothes with his pension-money, to which they added a good deal of their
own. As they remarked in their gay, courageous way, they now had two
children, a little one and a very old one, which was a heavy burden
for two women who earned but five francs a day, although they were ever
making boxes from morn till night, There was a touch of soft irony in
the circumstance that old Moineaud should have been unable to find any
other refuge than the home of his daughter Norine--that daughter whom he
had formerly turned away and cursed for her misconduct, that hussy who
had dishonored him, but whose very hands he now kissed when, for fear
lest he should set the tip of his nose ablaze, she helped him to light
his pipe.

All the same, the shaky old nest of the Moineauds was destroyed, and the
whole family had flown off, dispersed chancewise. Irma alone, thanks
to her fine marriage with a clerk, lived happily, playing the part of a
lady, and so full of vanity that she no longer condescended to see her
brothers and sisters. Victor, meantime, was leading at the factory much
the same life as his father had led, working at the same mill as the
other, and in the same blind, stubborn way. He had married, and though
he was under six-and-