"Well, if I am only jesting, little one, don't look so grieved," returned the old woman, touched by the girl's evident distress. "Now put the milk on the fire, and bandage my arm while waiting for it to boil." Mariette was as delighted over these orders as though they had been the kindest words in the world. She hastily lighted the fire; cut up their only remaining piece of bread into a dish of milk, placed it on the stove, and returned to the invalid. In spite of the repugnance which the putrid sore inspired in her, Mariette showed as much patience as dexterity in cleansing and bandaging the mutilated arm; and the young girl's devotion, as well as her noble resignation, touched the woman's heart anew. "Sisters of Charity are often praised, my dear," she said admiringly, "but none of them deserve half the praise you do." "But those good sisters devote their time to strangers, godmother," protested the girl modestly, "while you are like a mother to me. I only do my duty, and therefore have no merit." "Poor child, my affection for you brings you but little happiness. Only a few moments ago I made you burst into tears; and to-morrow will be the same as to-day." To escape from a reply to these bitter words, Mariette brought the steaming milk, which the invalid drank with appetite, and then busied herself in making the bed more comfortable. "What will you eat, Mariette?" asked the old woman, as she swallowed the last spoonful. "Oh! I have had my breakfast," said the girl bravely. "I bought a small loaf of rye bread this morning and ate it on my way--there, now," giving a last shake to the pillow, "you must try to sleep, you had such a bad night--are you more comfortable now?" "Yes, thank you, child." "I shall take my work near the window; the room is dark and this is very delicate work." "What is it?" "A fine cambric chemise, godmother. Madame Jourdan trusted me with it only after many recommendations not to lose this magnificent Valencienne trimming, which alone is worth two hundred francs. This brings the cost to three hundred francs apiece, and there are two dozen to make. It seems they are intended for somebody's mistress," concluded the girl naïvely. The invalid burst into a sardonic laugh. "What is it?" asked Mariette in surprise. "Such a funny idea." "Ah!" ejaculated Mariette, with a vague feeling of apprehension, for she knew only too well the habitual character of her godmother's jests. "What idea, godmother?" "I was asking myself of what use such people as you and I are in this world--wretched creatures, who know nothing but the sorrows and miseries of life; do you know, child?" "Indeed, godmother, I scarcely know what to say."