Paulette looked at her pityingly. “_Pauvre petite_, one may not look at things through such rose-colored glasses. It might happen that the affair would run smoothly, but how do we know that your father is yet well enough to attend to such matters? This in the first place, and in the second it might delay his recovery if he were given cause to worry. Again, affairs of government are not arranged in a moment. Papers must be prepared, sent to this one, that, and who knows how many months may pass before all is arranged? Meanwhile are we to sit and suck our paws like bears?” “You know a great deal, don’t you, Paulette?” said Lucie much impressed. “I have ears. I know what I hear,” returned Paulette. “Moreover,” she went on, “who am I that I should not work? I have always worked, even as a little child. I should be lost, desolated, without work. Am I to sit up like a lady and fold my hands at my time of life? No, no, the sooner I get to work the better.” “But I cannot bear the idea of your working to feed me,” said Lucie. “And who has a better right? Did I not nurse you, and have I not served your family always, always.” “Nevertheless,” began Lucie. “La la, if it comes to that,” interrupted Paulette, “when I am too old to work we can settle the score. That is finished. Now something else. We telephone to these people whose address you have just learned. We learn what we learn. Then at once we look for other lodgings. When we leave here we leave the new address with the old one so that any may know where to find us. That is all.” She carefully replaced the money, securely tied up the little bag and put it back in her deep pocket, then rose to carry out the plans she had made. At the end of twenty-four hours Paulette had accomplished what she set out to do, and Lucie found herself high up in an attic room, in an old part of the city. “It is not magnificent but it will serve,” was Paulette’s comment as they took possession. Lucie made no answer. It seemed a mean and poor habitation to her. Its one redeeming feature was a window which overlooked what had been an old convent garden, and gave opportunity for the sun to find its way into the room, and for the girl to see a bit of sky above the housetops. She foresaw that this would be her favorite spot, and that a chair by the window would save her from a feeling of utter desolation. “All the same I shall never cease to feel like a cat in a strange garret,” she said to herself, as she turned away from the window to help Paulette stow away their very modest belongings. CHAPTER VIII A BIT OF SKY