"I warn you," said she, enunciating each word separately, "I warn you that, if you enter my service, I will not allow you to bring your little girl to my house. No goings and comings in the house; I want no goings and comings in the house. No, no. No strangers, no vagabonds, no unknown people. One is exposed quite enough with the ordinary run of callers. Oh! no, thank you!" In spite of this declaration, which was not very prepossessing, the little servant dared to ask, nevertheless: "In that case, Madame surely will permit me to go and see my little girl, once a year,--just once a year!" "No." Such was the reply of the implacable _bourgeoise_. And she added: "My servants never go out. It is the principle of the house,--a principle on which I am not willing to compromise. I do not pay domestics that they may make the round of doubtful resorts, under pretence of going to see their daughters. That would be really too convenient. No, no. You have recommendations?" "Yes, Madame." She drew from her pocket a paper in which were wrapped some recommendations, yellow, crumpled, and soiled; and she silently handed them to Madame, with a trembling hand. Madame, with the tips of her fingers, as if to avoid soiling them, and with grimaces of disgust, unfolded one, which she began to read aloud: "'I certify that the girl J'...." Suddenly interrupting herself, she cast an atrocious look at Jeanne, who was growing more anxious and troubled. "'The girl'? It plainly says 'girl.' Then you are not married? You have a child, and you are not married? What does that mean?" The servant explained. "I ask Madame's pardon. I have been married for three years, and this recommendation was written six years ago. Madame can see the date for herself." "Well, that is your affair." And she resumed her reading of the recommendation. "... 'that the girl Jeanne Le Godec has been in my service for thirteen months, and that I have no cause of complaint against her, on the score of work, behavior, and honesty.' Yes, it is always the same thing. Recommendations that say nothing, that prove nothing. They give one no information. Where can one write to this lady?" "She is dead." "She is dead. To be sure, evidently she is dead. So you have a recommendation, and the very person who gave it to you is dead. You will confess that has a somewhat doubtful look." All this was said with a very humiliating expression of suspicion, and in a tone of gross irony. She took another recommendation. "And this person? She is dead, too, no doubt?" "No, Madame. Mme. Robert is in Algeria with her husband, who is a colonel." "In Algeria!" exclaimed the lady. "Naturally. How do you expect anybody to write to Algeria? Some are dead, others are in Algeria. The idea of seeking information in Algeria! This is all very extraordinary." "But I have others, Madame," implored the unfortunate Jeanne Le Godec. "Madame can see for herself. Madame can inform herself."