ers of the
pavement who beg, and thieve, and indulge in vice, form the dung-heap in
which the worst crimes germinate. Childhood left to wretchedness breeds
a fearful nucleus of infection in the tragic gloom of the depths of
Paris. Those who are thus imprudently cast into the streets yield a
harvest of brigandage--that frightful harvest of evil which makes all
society totter.

When Norine, through the boasting of Alexandre and Alfred, who took
pleasure in astonishing her, began to suspect the exploits of the band,
she felt so frightened that she had a strong bolt placed upon her door.
And when night had fallen she no longer admitted any visitor until she
knew his name. Her torture had been lasting for nearly two years; she
was ever quivering with alarm at the thought of Alexandre rushing in
upon her some dark night. He was twenty now; he spoke authoritatively,
and threatened her with atrocious revenge whenever he had to retire
with empty hands. One day, in spite of Cecile, he threw himself upon
the wardrobe and carried off a bundle of linen, handkerchiefs, towels,
napkins, and sheets, intending to sell them. And the sisters did not
dare to pursue him down the stairs. Despairing, weeping, overwhelmed by
it all, they had sunk down upon their chairs.

That winter proved a very severe one; and the two poor workwomen,
pillaged in this fashion, would have perished in their sorry home of
cold and starvation, together with the dear child for whom they still
did their best, had it not been for the help which their old friend,
Madame Angelin, regularly brought them. She was still a lady-delegate
of the Poor Relief Service, and continued to watch over the children of
unhappy mothers in that terrible district of Grenelle, whose poverty is
so great. But for a long time past she had been unable to do anything
officially for Norine. If she still brought her a twenty-franc piece
every month, it was because charitable people intrusted her with fairly
large amounts, knowing that she could distribute them to advantage in
the dreadful inferno which her functions compelled her to frequent.
She set her last joy and found the great consolation of her desolate,
childless life in thus remitting alms to poor mothers whose little ones
laughed at her joyously as soon as they saw her arrive with her hands
full of good things.

One day when the weather was frightful, all rain and wind, Madame
Angelin lingered for a little while in Norine's room. I