“Well,” cried the nurse, angrily, “if she has, it’s because the doctor scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong end first! A cold in the head? Yes, that’s true; but if she has caught cold, I can’t say when, I don’t know anything about it--nothing, nothing at all. I have always kept her well covered; she’s always had as much as three covers on her. The truth is, it was when you came, the time before last; you were all the time insisting upon opening the windows in the house!” “But once more I tell you,” cried Madame Dupont, “we are not putting any blame on you.” “Yes,” cried the woman, more vehemently. “I know what that kind of talk means. It’s no use--when you’re a poor country woman.” “What are you imagining now?” demanded the other. “Oh, that’s all right. It’s no use when you’re a poor country woman.” “I repeat to you once more,” cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty controlling her impatience, “we have nothing whatever to blame you for.” But the nurse began to weep. “If I had known that anything like this was coming to me--” “We have nothing to blame you for,” declared the other. “We only wish to warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the child.” The woman pouted. “A cold in the head!” she exclaimed. “Well, if I catch it, it won’t be the first time. I know how to blow my nose.” “But you might also get the pimples.” At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac rattled. “Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain’t city folks, we ain’t; we don’t have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? Pimples--what difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don’t have a white complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in the fields, in the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream on our muzzles! No offense, ma’am--but I say if you’re looking for an excuse to get rid of me, you must get a better one than that.” “Excuse!” exclaimed the other. “What in the world do you mean?” “Oh, I know!” said the nurse, nodding her head. “But speak!” “It’s no use, when you’re only a poor country woman.” “I don’t understand you! I swear to you that I don’t understand you!” “Well,” sneered the other, “I understand.” “But then--explain yourself.” “No, I don’t want to say it.” “But you must; I wish it.” “Well--” “Go ahead.” “I’m only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the others, for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks mean. Mr. George here has been grumbling because you promised me thirty francs more a month, if I came to Paris.” And then, turning upon the other, she went on--“But, sir, isn’t it only natural? Don’t I have to put my own child away somewheres else? And then, can my husband live on his appetite? We’re nothing but poor country people, we are.”