"Dear nurse, do worthless fellows trouble pretty girls, then?" "Alas, yes, my dearie. I have seen them often do so; and, unfortunately, the pretty girls listen willingly to the good-for-nothing fellows." "They listen willingly to them, nurse? Is it because they speak better than other men?" "No, not better, but they know so well how to dissemble; their speech is golden, their eyes deceptive, their manners--Ah, how glad I am that you have a talisman!" "But, nurse, since I do not leave my room--" "That's true, my dear; but you will not always keep your room, and under my watchful care it seems to me that one could very well allow you to take a little walk from time to time. M. Touquet is severe--very severe--to make me change my lodging because I noticed that he did not sleep at night. Is it my fault--mine--that he does not sleep?" "He prevents me from opening my window." "Ah, that is because it opens on the street; and if he knew you looked so often through the lattice--But no one can possibly see you; the panes are so small, so close together." "Oh, yes; it is like a grating." "A father could not be more strict." "Ah, Marguerite, he stands to me in the place of mine." "Yes, yes; I know it well; however, he is no relation--is he?" "No, Marguerite; I believe not." "According to what I heard in the neighborhood, before I came into his service, you are the daughter of a poor gentleman who came to Paris to follow a lawsuit about ten years ago." "Yes, dear nurse; I was then five years and some months of age. It seems to me, however, that I still remember my father; he was very good, and he often kissed me." "And your mother,--do you remember her?" "Alas, no; but I believe I can still remember the time when my father and I arrived here; we had been a long time in a carriage, and came from far off." "And M. Touquet lodged you, for then he kept lodgings; and after that?" "I was very tired; they gave me something to eat and put me to bed in this room, and I have always occupied it since." "And after that?" "I did not see my father again. The next day M. Touquet told me he was dead." "Yes; it was very unfortunate, they say. There were then, as there are very often still, fights in the night between pages and lackeys and honest men, who were often attacked by these cursed scoundrels while entering their own houses. That night they committed a thousand disorders in the streets of Paris; several persons were assassinated; and your poor father, who had gone out, was, while returning, drawn into a brawl, and perished trying to defend himself. That is all that I have learned; do you know anything further?" "No, Marguerite; besides, you know very well that my protector does not wish me to talk about that." "Yes, because he fears that it will give you pain." "He has deigned to keep me near him, to educate me as his daughter and give me some accomplishments; and I have for him the most lively gratitude."