girl, and lovers that worshipped her; well, when I think there
isn't one of them that so much as buys her a flower now, that's
queer, sir, and sad. And, after all, she isn't so badly off, for
she has her grave to herself, and if there is only one who
remembers her, he makes up for the others. But we have other poor
girls here, just like her and just her age, and they are just
thrown into a pauper's grave, and it breaks my heart when I hear
their poor bodies drop into the earth. And not a soul thinks
about them any more, once they are dead! 'Tisn't a merry trade,
ours, especially when we have a little heart left. What do you
expect? I can't help it. I have a fine, strapping girl myself;
she's just twenty, and when a girl of that age comes here I think
of her, and I don't care if it's a great lady or a vagabond, I
can't help feeling it a bit. But I am taking up your time, sir,
with my tales, and it wasn't to hear them you came here. I was
told to show you Mlle. Gautier's grave; here you have it. Is
there anything else I can do for you?"

"Do you know M. Armand Duval's address?" I asked.

"Yes; he lives at Rue de --; at least, that's where I always go
to get my money for the flowers you see there."

"Thanks, my good man."

I gave one more look at the grave covered with flowers, half
longing to penetrate the depths of the earth and see what the
earth had made of the fair creature that had been cast to it;
then I walked sadly away.