“As old as I? _Ma foi_, one would suppose me an ancient, I who have a young son no older than eighteen. Those two could be my mother.” “Both of them? It would be funny to have two mothers,” replied Lucie mischievously. “Zut!” exclaimed Paulette contemptuously. “It is this city, no doubt, which teaches you to be so witty. I repeat they are of an age when I might be a daughter to either one. They are given work at the _ouvroir_ of _les Dames Americaine_, but very little pay; three francs a day the two of them receive, but they maintain that it suffices. For me I make more, yet it is well to remember this _ouvroir_. One never knows what may happen. They have no allotment to depend upon, those two poor old bodies, for they have not a son in the army, as I have.” “I have a father, should not I have an allotment?” asked Lucie. “It goes to your mother, of course,” returned Paulette. “Do not worry over that; you are too young. We have enough, perhaps we do not feast, but at least we do not starve.” She paused to give herself up to meditating upon what Lucie had suggested, then she broke out with: “And even supposing there were an allotment for you, it would be small enough, and how would one go about getting it for you? It is not for me to say, and we had better think no more about it.” “I like that Odette,” remarked Lucie, “and I am very glad she is so near that I can see her every day. Did you ask her aunt if she would let her come?” “I asked, yes, for they seem respectable, though they were horrified to discover what the child had done, and no wonder. She has always been very venturesome, said the aunt. ‘I call it more than venturesome; I call it foolhardy,’ said the other.” “And what do you call it?” asked Lucie. Paulette shrugged her shoulders. “It is as one looks at those things. For you I should call it imbecile, for this other who is as thin and lithe as a monkey it is another thing, I would not have her do it again, but for this once it shows what she is made of. She would not hesitate, that one. If she saw a thing must be done, she would do it without delay.” “I like that,” returned Lucie. “It is as our soldiers do.” “And as the wives of soldiers must do,” which remark showed Lucie that Odette was approved. It was the very next day that Paulette came home with a long face. She put down her basket with a heavy sigh, and paid no attention to Pom Pom’s joyous greetings. “What is it, Paulette?” asked Lucie anxiously. “Are you ill?” “In mind; not body.” “But why? What has happened? Don’t tell me, Paulette, that there is some new misfortune.” “It is a misfortune that I am deprived of the means of earning a fair living. Madame Lemercier is leaving the city to-day and Madame Gouraud goes next week. They fear to remain, and are going to the south where they have friends.” “Oh, Paulette, what are we to do? I did not expect that I should be hearing such news as this.”