"Milk? milk? I'm tired of milk! The very thought of it makes me sick at my stomach. The doctor said I was to have good strong bouillon, with a chop and a bit of chicken now and then. I had some Monday and Wednesday--but this is Sunday." "It is not my fault, godmother. I know the doctor ordered it, but one must have money to follow his directions, and it is almost impossible for me to earn twenty sous a day now." "You don't mind spending money on clothes, I'm sure. When my comfort is concerned it is a very different thing." "But I have had nothing but this calico dress all winter, godmother," answered Mariette, with touching resignation. "I economise all I can, and we owe two months' rent for all that." "That means I am a burden to you, I suppose. And yet I took you in out of the street, and had you taught a trade, you ungrateful, hard-hearted minx!" "No, godmother, I am not ungrateful. When you are not feeling as badly as you are now you are more just to me," replied Mariette, restraining her tears; "but don't insist upon going without eating any longer. It will make you feel so badly." "I know it. I've got dreadful cramps in my stomach now." "Then take your milk, I beg of you, godmother." "I won't do anything of the kind! I hate milk, I tell you." "Shall I go out and get you a couple of fresh eggs?" "No, I want some chicken." "But, godmother, I can't--" "Can't what?" "Buy chicken on credit." "I only want a half or a quarter of one. You had twenty-four sous in your purse this morning." "That is true, godmother." "Then go to the _rôtisseur_ and buy me a quarter of a chicken." "But, godmother, I--" "Well?" "I haven't that much money any longer, I have only a few sous left." "And those two ten sous pieces; what became of them?" "Godmother--" "Where are those two ten sous pieces, tell me?" "I--I don't know," repeated the poor girl, blushing. "They must have slipped out of my purse. I--I--" "You lie. You are blushing as red as a beet." "I assure you--" "Yes, yes, I see," sneered the sick woman, "while I am lying here on my death-bed you have been stuffing yourself with dainties." "But, godmother--" "Get out of my sight, get out of my sight, I tell you! Let me lie here and starve if you will, but don't let me ever lay eyes on you again! You were very anxious for me to drink that milk! There was poison in it, I expect, I am such a burden to you." At this accusation, which was as absurd as it was atrocious, Mariette stood for a moment silent and motionless, not understanding at first the full meaning of those horrible words; but when she did, she recoiled, clasping her hands in positive terror; then, unable to restrain her tears, and yielding to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself on the sick woman's neck, twined her arms around her, and covering her face with tears and kisses, exclaimed, wildly: "Oh, godmother, godmother, how can you?"