yielding to the same unreasoning despair as Valerie, and was almost
willing that she should take the desperate course which she had hinted to
Marianne. But it was a very serious matter, and Mathieu did not wish to
be in any way mixed up in it. Having tried his best to pacify the
cashier, he sought forgetfulness of these painful incidents in his work.

That afternoon, however, a little girl, Cecile Moineaud, the old fitter's
youngest daughter, slipped into his office, with a message from her
mother, beseeching him to speak with her. He readily understood that the
woman wished to see him respecting Norine, and in his usual compassionate
way he consented to go. The interview took place in one of the adjacent
streets, down which the cold winter wind was blowing. La Moineaude was
there with Norine and another little girl of hers, Irma, a child eight
years of age. Both Norine and her mother wept abundantly while begging
Mathieu to help them. He alone knew the whole truth, and was in a
position to approach Beauchene on the subject. La Moineaude was firmly
determined to say nothing to her husband. She trembled for his future and
that of her son Alfred, who was now employed at the works; for there was
no telling what might happen if Beauchene's name should be mentioned.
Life was indeed hard enough already, and what would become of them all
should the family bread-winners be turned away from the factory? Norine
certainly had no legal claim on Beauchene, the law being peremptory on
that point; but, now that she had lost her employment, and was driven
from home by her father, could he leave her to die of want in the
streets? The girl tried to enforce her moral claim by asserting that she
had always been virtuous before meeting Beauchene. In any case, her lot
remained a very hard one. That Beauchene was the father of her child
there could be no doubt; and at last Mathieu, without promising success,
told the mother that he would do all he could in the matter.