"My God! My God! is it possible? Why, you will taint the whole house; you cannot stay near me. This changes the case entirely. And when I was beginning to feel sympathy for you! No, no; in spite of all my kindness, it is not possible, it is no longer possible!" She had pulled out her handkerchief, and was trying to dissipate the putrid air, as she repeated: "No, really, it is no longer possible!" "Come, Madame," intervened Mme. Paulhat-Durand, "make an effort. I am sure that this unhappy girl will always be grateful to you." "Grateful? That is all well enough. But gratitude will not cure her of this frightful infirmity. Well, so be it! But I can give her only ten francs. Ten francs, no more! She can take it or leave it." Louise, who had so far kept back her tears, was choking. "No ... I will not ... I will not ... I will not." "Listen, Mademoiselle," said Mme. Paulhat-Durand, dryly. "You will accept this place. If you don't, I will not undertake to get another for you. You can go and ask for places at the other bureaus. I have had enough. And you are doing injury to my house." "It is evident," insisted the old lady. "And you ought to thank me for these ten francs. It is out of pity, out of charity, that I offer them to you. How is it that you do not see that I am doing a good work, of which no doubt I shall repent, as I have repented of others?" Then, addressing Mme. Paulhat-Durand, she added: "What do you expect? I am so constituted. I cannot bear to see people suffer. In the presence of misfortune I become utterly stupid. And at my age one does not change, you know. Come, my little one, I take you with me." Just then a sudden cramp forced me to descend from my post of observation. I never saw Louise again. The next day but one Mme. Paulhat-Durand had me ceremoniously ushered into the bureau, and, after having examined me in rather an embarrassing fashion, she said to me: "Mademoiselle Célestine, I have a good place for you, a very good place. Only you have to go into the country,--oh! not very far." "Into the country? I do not go there, you know." She insisted. "You do not know the country. There are excellent places in the country." "Oh! excellent places! What a humbug!" I said. "In the first place, there are no good places anywhere." Mme. Paulhat-Durand smiled amiably and affectedly. Never had I seen such a smile on her face. "I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Célestine, there are no bad places." "Indeed, I know it well. There are only bad masters." "No, only bad servants. See, I offer you all the best houses; it is not my fault, if you do not stay in them." She looked at me in a way that was almost friendly. "Especially as you are very intelligent. You have a pretty face, a pretty figure, charming hands not at all ruined by work, and eyes that are not in your pockets. Good fortune might easily come to you. One does not know what good fortune could come to you ... with conduct." "With misconduct, you mean."