"I want you to see her."

On entering the little parlor with his mother, Pascal found
himself in the presence of a portly, pale-faced woman, with thin
lips and restless eyes, who bowed obsequiously. It was indeed
Madame Vantrasson, the landlady of the model lodging-house, who
was seeking employment for the three or four hours which were at
her disposal in the morning, she said. It certainly was not for
pleasure that she had decided to go out to service again; her
dignity suffered terribly by this fall--but then the stomach has
to be cared for. Tenants were not numerous at the model lodging-
house, in spite of its seductive title; and those who slept there
occasionally, almost invariably succeeded in stealing something.
Nor did the grocery store pay; the few half-pence which were left
there occasionally in exchange for a glass of liquor were pocketed
by Vantrasson, who spent them at some neighboring establishment;
for it is a well-known fact that the wine a man drinks in his own
shop is always bitter in flavor. So, having no credit at the
butcher's or the baker's, Madame Vantrasson was sometimes reduced
to living for days together upon the contents of the shop--mouldy
figs or dry raisins--which she washed down with torrents of
ratafia, her only consolation here below.

But this was not a satisfying diet, as she was forced to confess;
so she decided to find some work, that would furnish her with food
and a little money, which she vowed she would never allow her
worthy husband to see.

"What would you charge per month?" inquired Pascal.