Touched by this instance of goodness, and compassionating the desolate condition of these children, Mad. de Fleury complied with Victoire’s request; resolving to remonstrate with their mother for leaving them locked up in this manner. They did not know to what part of the town their mother was gone; they could tell only, “that she was to go to a great many different places to carry back work, and to bring home more; and that she expected to be in by five.” It was now half after four. Whilst Mad. de Fleury waited, she asked the boy to give her a full account of the manner in which the accident had happened. “Why, ma’am,” said Maurice, twisting and untwisting a ragged handkerchief as he spoke, “the first beginning of all the mischief was, we had nothing to do; so we went to the ashes to make dirt pies: but Babet would go so close that she burnt her petticoat, and threw about all our ashes, and plagued us, and we whipped her: but all would not do, she would not be quiet; so to get out of her reach, we climbed up by this chair on the table to the top of the press, and there we were well enough for a little while, till somehow we began to quarrel about the old scissors, and we struggled hard for them till I got this cut.” Here he unwound the handkerchief, and for the first time showed the wound, which he had never mentioned before. “Then,” continued he, “when I got the cut, I shoved Victoire, and she pushed at me again, and I was keeping her off, and her foot slipped, and down she fell; and caught by the press-door, and pulled it and me after her, and that’s all I know.” “It is well that you were not both killed,” said Mad. de Fleury. “Are you often left locked up in this manner by yourselves, and without any thing to do?” “Yes, always, when mamma is abroad--except sometimes we are let out upon the stairs, or in the street; but mamma says we get into mischief there.” This dialogue was interrupted by the return of the mother. She came up stairs slowly, much fatigued, and with a heavy bundle under her arm. “How now! Maurice, how comes my door open? What’s all this?” cried she, in an angry voice; but seeing a lady sitting upon her child’s bed, she stopped short in great astonishment. Mad. de Fleury related what had happened, and averted her anger from Maurice, by gently expostulating upon the hardship and hazard of leaving her young children in this manner during so many hours of the day.