"Mon Dieu! how you do chatter to-day, mesdemoiselles! If this nonsense goes on, we shan't be able to deliver our orders." "Talking don't prevent sewing, mademoiselle." "We haven't any reason to be dismal," said the girl with the affected manners.--"By the way, mesdemoiselles, I saw our old comrade Léonie yesterday. She had the arm of a man who didn't have any style at all--and who was dressed like a messenger!" "Ah! some women have such vile taste!" "They stoop so low!" "There are some who wouldn't blush to love a bootblack." "A messenger and a bootblack are the same thing." "Do you think so, Euphémie?" "To be sure; when you want to have your shoes polished, you go up to a messenger and put your foot on his _crochets_, and he's obliged to polish 'em right away." "Indeed! but what if he don't have any polish?" "That don't make any difference. Besides, those fellows always do have; they lend their things to each other." "I must treat myself to a shine, then. Two sous is enough to pay, and I'll have my shoes shined by young Paul, the messenger who plays the swell." Little Elina said nothing, but held her head still lower over her work; for her eyes were full of tears, she was choking with vexation and anger, and she did not want them to see her weep. Luckily, Madame Dumanchon's arrival put an end to this conversation. When their mistress was present, the girls dared not talk or laugh or sing; they had to content themselves with looking at one another from time to time, and making signs or wry faces. Elina left the workroom with a heavy heart and eyes still red with weeping. "Mon Dieu! how spiteful those girls are!" she said to herself. "But what would they say if they knew that poor Paul, whom they sneer at so, is also a foundling? But all that doesn't prevent my loving him, for I'm sure that he's honest and good, and that he loves me. Oh! his voice rang so true when he told me. And it seems to me that, for all his humble condition, he has better manners and expresses himself better than any of the men who come to speak to the girls sometimes." To help her to forget the chagrin she had felt in the workroom, she hurried across the street to say good-night to Paul before returning to her aunt's. But her hope was disappointed: Paul was not in his place, and, having looked about to see if she could discover him anywhere, Elina sadly went home, flattering herself that she would have better luck the next day. The next day came; Elina, who had slept very little and dreamed a great deal,--which seems, at first glance, a difficult feat, yet happens not infrequently,--descended from her loft, dressed with care, looked at herself in her mirror oftener than usual, to make sure that her hair was becomingly arranged, and left the house, saying in reply to her aunt, who asked her where she was going so early, that there was a press of work, and that Madame Dumanchon had urged them to come in good season.