her word.

She was the daughter of a humble packer of the Rue Neuve-Coquenard.
Toward 1848 she married Michel Desvarennes, who was then a journeyman
baker in a large shop in the Chaussee d'Antin. With the thousand francs
which the packer managed to give his daughter by way of dowry, the young
couple boldly took a shop and started a little bakery business. The
husband kneaded and baked the bread, and the young wife, seated at the
counter, kept watch over the till. Neither on Sundays nor on holidays was
the shop shut.

Through the window, between two pyramids of pink and blue packets of
biscuits, one could always catch sight of the serious-looking Madame
Desvarennes, knitting woollen stockings for her husband while waiting for
customers. With her prominent forehead, and her eyes always bent on her
work, this woman appeared the living image of perseverance.

At the end of five years of incessant work, and possessing twenty
thousand francs, saved sou by sou, the Desvarennes left the slopes of
Montmartre, and moved to the centre of Paris. They were ambitious and
full of confidence. They set up in the Rue Vivienne, in a shop
resplendent with gilding and ornamented with looking-glasses. The ceiling
was painted in panels with bright hued pictures that caught the eyes of
the passers-by. The window-shelves were of white marble, and the counter,
where Madame Desvarennes was still enthroned, was of a width worthy of
the receipts that were taken every day. Business increased daily; the
Desvarennes continued to be hard and systematic workers. The class of
customers alone had changed; they were more numerous and richer. The
house had a specialty for making small rolls for the restaurants. Michel
had learned from the Viennese bakers how to make those golden balls which