eyes were fixed upon her, and this, for reasons best known to herself,
made her feel uncomfortable. He on his side certainly placed no
confidence in this big dark girl with a head like that of a horse, who,
it seemed to him, knew far too much.

Marianne joined in the conversation. "But why," asked she, "why does not
this Madame Menoux, whom you speak about, keep her baby with her?"

Thereupon La Couteau turned a dark harsh glance upon this lady visitor,
who, whatever course she might take herself, had certainly no right to
prevent others from doing business.

"Oh! it's impossible," exclaimed Celeste, well pleased with the
diversion. "Madame Menoux's shop is no bigger than my pocket-
handkerchief, and at the back of it there is only one little room where
she and her husband take their meals and sleep. And that room, too,
overlooks a tiny courtyard where one can neither see nor breathe. The
baby would not live a week in such a place. And, besides, Madame Menoux
would not have time to attend to the child. She has never had a servant,
and what with waiting on customers and having to cook meals in time for
her husband's return from the museum, she never has a moment to spare.
Oh! if she could, she would be very happy to keep the little fellow with
her."

"It is true," said Marianne sadly; "there are some poor mothers whom I
pity with all my heart. This person you speak of is not in poverty, and
yet is reduced to this cruel separation. For my part, I should not be
able to exist if a child of mine were taken away from me to some unknown
spot and given to another woman."