Louise had that instinct of the heart which enables its possessor to read one’s inmost thoughts; she divined the words that died on Nicole’s lips, and she said, sobbing and pressing her hand convulsively: “Nobody came for me, I know that. My mother didn’t want me, and yet I couldn’t have been naughty then--I was too young. And if it hadn’t been for you, for your kindness, what would have become of me? Oh! dear Nicole, how can a mother ever abandon her child? I would have loved my mother so dearly, and she didn’t want to take me back, or even to kiss me! Oh! she must have died, I am sure, or else she’d have come after me, or at least have come to see me sometimes.” “Yes,” said Nicole, kissing Louise, “you are right, my child, your mother must have died and not had time to send for you; perhaps she wasn’t able to tell where her child was. Bless my soul! people die so sudden sometimes! That’s the way it must have been. But let’s not say any more about it; you know, I don’t like to get into that subject, for it always makes you sad.” “That is why I so seldom mention it, my dear Nicole, although I think about it almost all the time; but when Chérubin was with me, I used to forget sometimes that I don’t know who my parents are. He told me that he would always love me--and now he has abandoned me too.” After this conversation Louise went to the end of the garden, where she could weep at her ease. In vain did Nicole say to her: “He’ll come back, my child, he’ll come back!” Time passed and they saw nothing of Chérubin. At last, yielding to the girl’s entreaties, Nicole started with her for Paris one morning; and all the way Louise kept saying: “We are going to see him. I’ll tell him how sad I am when I am away from him; I’ll tell him that I cry almost all the time, that there’s nothing to amuse me in the village, and he’ll come back with us, mother; oh! I am sure that he’ll come back with us.” Nicole shook her head with a doubtful expression, and murmured: “At any rate, we shall find out whether he’s happy and well; that’s the main thing.” In due time they reached the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain. “This is his house,” said Nicole; “I recognize it all right! This is the very house where I came to get him when he was a spindling little thing, as thin as a rail. I made a fine boy of him, thank God! And then I came here two or three times to bring him to his father, when the old gentleman was alive.” Louise gazed wonderingly at the old structure, whose severe aspect and time-blackened walls almost frightened her. Meanwhile, they had entered the courtyard, and Nicole said to the concierge: “Monsieur, I’ve come to see my _fieu_--my nursling, young Chérubin, your master. He left us to come here, but we don’t like not having a chance to kiss him for so long; we couldn’t stand it any longer, so here we are.” The concierge, who had his orders, replied: “You can’t see monsieur le marquis, my master, for he isn’t in the house.”