But the inevitable was on the march, for the girl had become the constant companion of Séraphine. The latter, however depraved she might be, had certainly in the first instance entertained no idea of corrupting the child whom she patronized. She had at first taken her solely to such places of amusement as were fit for her years and understanding. But little by little the descent had come. Reine, too, as she grew into a woman, amid the hours of idleness when she was left alone by her father--who, perforce, had to spend his days at the Beauchêne works--developed an ardent temperament and a thirst for every frivolous pleasure. And by degrees the once simply petted child became a participator in Séraphine's own reckless and dissolute life. When the end came, and Reine found herself in dire trouble because of a high State functionary, a married man, a friend of Séraphine's--both women quite lost their heads. Such a blow might kill Morange. Everything must be hidden from him; but how? Thereupon Séraphine devised a plan. She obtained permission for Reine to accompany her on a visit into the country; but while the fond father imagined that his daughter was enjoying herself among society folk at a chateau in the Loiret, she was really hiding in Paris. It was indeed a repetition of her mother's tragic story, with this difference--that Séraphine addressed herself to no vulgar Madame Rouche, but to an assistant of her own surgeon, Gaude, a certain Sarraille, who had a dingy den of a clinic in the Passage Tivoli.