you be afraid, I’ll send you money, you shall have plenty of it.’

“At that I makes another reverence and says:

“‘I am a Picarde, monsieur, from the village of Coulange, near Abbeville; my name is Marguerite Thomasseau; my husband raises donkeys, and we’ve had four nurslings already.’

“‘All right, take this little one and go.’

“‘But, monsieur,’ I says, ‘what about the layette; where’s the little one’s layette?’

“At that, the handsome gentleman looks at his swell servant as if he was surprised, and says:

“‘What’s this woman talking about? What’s a layette?’

“The servant who was better instructed than his master, says:

“‘Monsieur, it is the child’s trousseau, the little things that people give to dress it in.’

“‘Oh! the devil! I didn’t know that myself, and it seems she didn’t think of it either! Never mind, Comtois, give her some of my trousers and waistcoats, give her my old dressing-gown and some linen; the nurse can make them over and we’ll send her something else later. Make haste, Comtois. Here, put in this handkerchief too, which belongs to the child’s mother, and which I put in my pocket by mistake yesterday.’

“The servant made me up a bundle in a hurry; and a queer layette it was, I tell you! I don’t believe that any young one ever had one like it; it consisted of a woolen dressing-gown lined with silk, three pairs of broadcloth trousers, six cravats, two white piqué waistcoats and one black satin one, six fine shirts, a pair of suspenders, and a white handkerchief embroidered with a cipher, with a coronet on it. As for the handkerchief, I still have that, I have kept it so that the child might have something that belonged to her parents. However, all that stuff was better than nothing; I took the bundle and they were already turning me out of the room with my nursling, when I remembered that I didn’t know anybody’s name.

“‘Well, monsieur, what’s the little one’s name, and yours, and your wife’s?’

“At that the gentleman made a funny kind of face; he hesitated a long while, as if he was trying to think what answer he could make, and finally he said:

“‘The child’s name is Evelina—Evelina de Paulausky.—Now go; I will write to you.’

“At that he pushed me out with the child and the bundle. I started back the same day; and since then, and that was three years ago, not a word from the child’s parents. Evelina they called her, but we found that name too long and too hard to pronounce, and so, as the child when she was a year old, loved violets and could pick them as she rolled about on the grass, why we just called her Violette; you can call her so too, if you choose. She answers to that name better than to Evelina!”

That is what the nurse had told the good woman who took Violette to Paris. That charitable person was by no means wealthy, but she had given the child some education. Violette had learned to read, to write, and to do some kinds of sewing, but her protectress died before she was very learned. The child was only eleven when she lost her.

Being left alone and without resources, and having too much pride to beg her bread, she went from door to door, to all the people in the quarter, saying:

“Please give me something to do; I am able to work; I know how to knit and sew; I will do anything you want, but employ me, I beg you, for I would rather starve to death than beg and live on the charity of passers-by.”

These words indicated a certain pride and a lofty spirit; they indicated above all else Violette’s horror of idleness, which is the most dangerous of all faults. They were worth more than a letter of recommendation.

A dealer in fruit said to her:

“I know a lady who is looking for a young maid to take her little ones to walk. I will give you her address, you can go to see her, and perhaps she’ll hire you. But oh, dear! I am afraid that she’ll think you a little too young.—How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“You must tell her you’re fourteen.”

“Oh, no! I won’t lie, madame; my protectress always told me that that was a very wicked habit.”

“Ah! my girl, anyone can see that you are young! If you pass your life without lying, you’ll be a famous phenomenon, and they’ll exhibit you later for two sous. However, that’s your business. You can do as you choose.”

Violette went to see the lady who was looking for a young nursemaid. Her first question, as she looked at Violette, was:

“How old are you?”

And when the girl told her the truth, she dismissed her, saying:

“Why, you are much too young! You are only a child yourself; how do you expect me to give you my children to take care of?”

“Oh! I am very prudent, very sensible for my age, madame; inquire at number thirty-two; and then you can give me whatever you please, madame, I don’t care; so long as I can live without begging, that is all I ask.”

These last words caused the lady to reflect, for there are people who calculate closely on every subject, even when the welfare of their children is concerned; such people are ordinarily the ones who consider it very hard that dogs are ordered to be muzzled. She called Violette back and said:

“Come again to-morrow; I will make inquiries at the house you mention.”

The next day Violette became nursemaid, with a hundred francs a year. That sum seemed enormous to the child, who would have taken the place for nothing if it had been suggested to her. And as her mistress lived on Rue de Bondy, she took the two little girls of three or four years to walk every day on the Boulevard, near the Château d’Eau. When it was the day for the flower market, Violette never failed to take the children there, and then she was very happy, for she adored flowers, and even if she had not the means to buy any, on that day she could see them and gaze at them at her leisure.

More than three years passed thus. Violette’s mistress had never had to find fault with her little maid, for she had never left for a single instant the children whom it was her duty to take to walk. However, her wages were not increased; to be sure, Violette did not ask for an increase, and to obtain distinction in this world, it is not sufficient to behave oneself well, to have merit or talent—one must ask, ask, and then—ask. And as people who are out of the line do not understand that, they prefer to be undistinguished except by their talent.

The mother of the two little girls whom Violette had in charge left Paris and France; she took her children, but did not take the young nurse. So that Violette was left once more without a home and without occupation. While waiting until chance should throw employment in her way, the girl as a matter of habit went to the Boulevard du Château d’Eau, where she had taken the children so often; and on market days she stopped in front of the flowers and sometimes remained there all day long.

One day, one of the flower women, an honest old soul, who had often noticed the little nurse when she was taking the two children to walk, said to Violette, who seemed to be admiring her bouquets:

“Well, my girl, what have you done with the brats that you always brought here to walk? For I know you, I have looked after you very often; and bless my soul, it don’t seem to me that anyone had any reason to complain of you. You didn’t run about from one place to another. You didn’t talk with a lot of people, as most of the nurses do that have children to take care of! Mon Dieu! if nothing happens to the young ones, it isn’t the fault of those young women, who attend to everything else except the children that are in their care!”

“Alas! madame, my mistress has gone to England with her children.”

“And