“‘You are a natural child,’ he said as soon as I had done, ‘and you have been basely abandoned. That fact alone would be sufficient to justify every supposition. You do not know your parents; but it is quite possible that they may know you, and that they may never have lost sight of you. Your mother was a working-girl, you think? That may be. But your father? Do you know what interests your existence may threaten? Do you know what elaborate edifice of falsehood and infamy your sudden appearance might tumble to the ground?’ “I was listening dumfounded. “Never had such conjectures crossed my mind; and, whilst I doubted their probability, I had, at least, to admit their possibility. “‘What must I do, then?’ I inquired. “The peace-officer shook his head. “‘Indeed, my poor child, I hardly know what to advise. The police is not omnipotent. It can do nothing to anticipate a crime conceived in the brain of an unknown scoundrel.’ “I was terrified. He saw it, and took pity on me. “‘In your place,’ he added, ‘I would change my domicile. You might, perhaps, thus make them lose your track. And, above all, do not fail to give me your new address. Whatever I can do to protect you, and insure your safety, I shall do.’ “That excellent man has kept his word; and once again I owed my safety to him. ‘Tis he who is now commissary of police in this district, and who protected me against Mme. Fortin. I hastened to follow his advice, and two days later I had hired the room in this house in which I am still living. In order to avoid every chance of discovery, I left my employer, and requested her to say, if any one came to inquire after me, that I had gone to America. “I soon found work again in a very fashionable dress-making establishment, the name of which you must have heard,--Van Klopen’s. Unfortunately, war had just been declared. Every day announced a new defeat. The Prussians were coming; then the siege began. Van Klopen had closed his shop, and left Paris. I had a few savings, thank heaven; and I husbanded them as carefully as shipwrecked mariners do their last ration of food, when I unexpectedly found some work. “It was one Sunday, and I had gone out to see some battalions of National Guards passing along the Boulevard, when suddenly I saw one of the vivandieres, who was marching behind the band, stop, and run towards me with open arms. It was my old friend from the Batignolles, who had recognized me. She threw her arms around my neck, and, as we had at once become the centre of a group of at least five hundred idlers, “‘I must speak to you,’ she said. ‘If you live in the neighborhood, let’s go to your room. The service can wait.’