moved like a woman unaccustomed to go anywhere on foot. Often, while
thanking Pierrotin, she gave him glances which would have touched to
pity an intelligent observer; from time to time she would slip a
twelve-sous piece into his hand, and then her voice was charming.
Pierrotin had never seen Oscar, for the reason that the boy was always
in school at the time his business took him to the house.

Here is the sad story which Pierrotin could never have discovered,
even by asking for information, as he sometimes did, from the portress
of the house; for that individual knew nothing beyond the fact that
the Claparts paid a rent of two hundred and fifty francs a year, had
no servant but a charwoman who came daily for a few hours in the
morning, that Madame Clapart did some of her smaller washing herself,
and paid the postage on her letters daily, being apparently unable to
let the sum accumulate.

There does not exist, or rather, there seldom exists, a criminal who
is wholly criminal. Neither do we ever meet with a dishonest nature
which is completely dishonest. It is possible for a man to cheat his
master to his own advantage, or rake in for himself alone all the hay
in the manger, but, even while laying up capital by actions more or
less illicit, there are few men who never do good ones. If only from
self-love, curiosity, or by way of variety, or by chance, every man
has his moment of beneficence; he may call it his error, he may never
do it again, but he sacrifices to Goodness, as the most surly man
sacrifices to the Graces once or twice in his life. If Moreau's faults
can ever be excused, it might be on the score of his persistent
kindness in succoring a woman of whose favors he had once been proud,
and in whose house he was hidden when in peril of his life.