nature was marred by her hard mouth, her thin lips, suggestive of
artfulness and cupidity. Her gown of dark woollen stuff, her black cape,
black mittens, and black cap with yellow ribbons, gave her the appearance
of a respectable countrywoman going to mass in her Sunday best.

"Have you been a nurse?" Valentine inquired, as she scrutinized her.

"Yes, madame," replied La Couteau, "but that was ten years ago, when I
was only twenty. It seemed to me that I wasn't likely to make much money
by remaining a nurse, and so I preferred to set up as an agent to bring
others to Paris."

As she spoke she smiled, like an intelligent woman who feels that those
who give their services as wet nurses to bourgeois families are simply
fools and dupes. However, she feared that she might have said too much on
the point, and so she added: "But one does what one can, eh, madame? The
doctor told me that I should never do for a nurse again, and so I thought
that I might perhaps help the poor little dears in another manner."

"And you bring wet nurses to the Paris offices?"

"Yes, madame, twice a month. I supply several offices, but more
particularly Madame Broquette's office in the Rue Roquepine. It's a very
respectable place, where one runs no risk of being deceived--And so, if
you like, madame, I will choose the very best I can find for you--the
pick of the bunch, so to say. I know the business thoroughly, and you can
rely on me."

As her mistress did not immediately reply, Celeste ventured to intervene,
and began by explaining how it happened that La Couteau had called that