But the next day she came home with better reports. She had found work, but it would keep her all day, and what would Lucie do? “I shall have Odette and we can manage,” declared Lucie sturdily. “She can teach me how to cook and I can then have the meal ready when you come.” “Tst! Tst!” cried Paulette. “Two children instead of one to set the house on fire.” “But Odette, she is very clever, as clever as a woman. I can tell that. I wish you could see what she has been doing to-day. Wait, I will ask her to show you.” She ran off to bring in the little neighbor, who came, work in hand. “Look at this,” cried Lucie, taking it from her. Paulette received into her hand a white satin shoe. She looked at it contemptuously. “Is mademoiselle then attending a ball?” she asked sarcastically. Odette handed her the mate to the shoe; this she was covering neatly with black cloth. “I needed shoes,” she said. “There was but this pair at the _ouvroir_, but Mademoiselle said I could have them. I think she too wondered what I would do with them. I shall wear them and show her. She will be surprised, that young American lady. The cloth I begged from the bag of the old lady who is friend of my aunt.” “Is she not clever?” said Lucie. “She will do,” responded Paulette, but after this no more was said of fire due to carelessness on Odette’s part, and the next morning Paulette started forth to work. It was in a laundry and she did not like it, but never a word did she say to Lucie about that. So the days went by, and Lucie learned a great many things. Odette taught her to make an excellent _potage_, though more often it was a _soupe maigre_ which they were obliged to have. Paulette took a modest lunch with her, for she did not get back till night, and the two little girls had their meal together. Paulette arranged that they should go to market with Mathilde, under whose instructions Lucie became an expert buyer, and although she was always busy she was the happier for it. At night the streets were dark; there was no rattle of omnibuses, no shops open, window curtains drawn, even the street cars darkened by blinds. It was not like the Paris of which Lucie had dreamed in those early days. Out of this darkness one evening came a welcome visitor. It was Pom Pom who first recognized the step on the stair. He sniffed at the crack of the door, then began to whine excitedly, running first to Lucie and then to Paulette, imploring in his language to be let out. “What in the world is the matter with the little beast?” said Paulette. “Shall I let him out?” “No; it is a stray cat which has come in, no doubt. He does not like stray cats; he is clever, however, and recognizes friends. He never disturbs that big cat of Mathilde.” “He certainly is making a great fuss,” remarked Lucie as Pom Pom became more and more frantic. “Ah, there is a knock at the door; it is a person and not a cat. Shall I go?”