good-byes:

"Till next Tuesday!"

"O, by the way," said the Abbe, returning a step or two, "I was
forgetting: Mother Fetu is ill. You should go to see her."

"I will go to-morrow," answered Helene.

The Abbe had a habit of commissioning her to visit his poor. They
engaged in all sorts of whispered talk together on this subject,
private business which a word or two enabled them to settle together,
and which they never referred to in the presence of other persons.

On the morrow Helene went out alone. She decided to leave Jeanne in
the house, as the child had been troubled with fits of shivering since
paying a visit of charity to an old man who had become paralyzed. Once
out of doors, she followed the Rue Vineuse, turned down the Rue
Raynouard, and soon found herself in the Passage des Eaux, a strange,
steep lane, like a staircase, pent between garden walls, and
conducting from the heights of Passy to the quay. At the bottom of
this descent was a dilapidated house, where Mother Fetu lived in an
attic lighted by a round window, and furnished with a wretched bed, a
rickety table, and a seatless chair.

"Oh! my good lady, my good lady!" she moaned out, directly she saw
Helene enter.

The old woman was in bed. In spite of her wretchedness, her body was
plump, swollen out, as it were, while her face was puffy, and her