“Nor did I expect, when I spoke of those old ones and the _ouvroir_ which is helping them, that Paulette Ribot might have to accept charity from the hands of strangers. But she will not, no, she will not, if there is work for her in this city. To-morrow begins the search for it.” “Those two for whom you have been working, Madame Lemercier and Madame Gouraud, did they know of no one who would like a _femme de ménage_?” “_Hélas!_ they did not. I asked, of course, but what would you when they were all absorbed in their preparations for leaving? No, what comes to one must be first sought for.” Lucie sighed. “I wish there were something I could do, for soon my shoes will be gone, and yours, too, my Paulette; then we shall want warm things for the winter.” “It will not be difficult if one can get work, for I still have a little hoard and there is Jean’s allotment when it comes. Do not be uneasy, my child. I begin to-morrow to hunt the city over for employment.” “But, Paulette, you do not know the city, and you are afraid to go anywhere except in those streets with which you are acquainted.” Paulette puffed out her cheeks and threw back her head. “Zut!” she exclaimed. “Have I then less courage than that little skinny ape of a child next door? Rest tranquil, _chérie_; I shall arrive.” There was a great noise of shouting and cheering in the street at that moment. Lucie ran to the window to see. “Come, Paulette,” she cried. “Something is going on. A victory! Yes, it is a victory! Don’t you hear them shouting: ‘_Vive la France_,’ and ‘_Vive Joffre_’? Let us go down and see.” “_Bien_,” responded Paulette laconically, putting up her knitting. So, down the gloomy stairway they went to the street, where people were gathered in knots, all talking, exclaiming. “Is it then a victory at last?” inquired Paulette. “A victory indeed,” the nearest woman told her. “They have driven those Boches across the Marne. We are safe.” Paulette looked down at Lucie, who was eagerly listening, “If those silly donkeys of women had but waited another day,” she said, “I would still be holding my job.” “They will come back, perhaps, when they know.” “Not they. They have hearts of chickens, rabbits, those two.” Nevertheless the news of the victory of the Marne did encourage the good woman and she started out the next morning declaring that good luck was with them and that she would come back with work to do. It was very late when she did return, weary and with downcast countenance. She shook her head when Lucie asked what success. “They are so many, these refugees,” she said, “and all must be fed, must have employment. In that St. Sulpice it is like a village, and one meets groups of them on the street with a look as of those lost. So many, so many, and we are also refugees. One more day of this and I go to the country. I care not where. I can work in the fields.”