"The one-eyed woman," resumed Fleur-de-Marie, "made me sell barley-sugar in the evenings on the Pont Neuf; but that was only an excuse for asking charity; and when I did not bring her in at least ten sous, the Chouette beat me instead of giving me any supper." "Are you sure the woman was not your mother?" inquired Rodolph. "Quite sure; for she often scolded me for being fatherless and motherless, and said she picked me up one day in the street." "So," said the Chourineur, "you had a dance instead of a meal, if you did not pick up ten sous?" "Yes. And after that I went to lie down on some straw spread on the ground; when I was cold--very cold." "I do not doubt it, for the feather of beans (straw) is a very cold sort of stuff," said the Chourineur. "A dung-heap is twice as good; but then people don't like your smell, and say, 'Oh, the blackguard! where has he been?'" This remark made Rodolph smile, whilst Fleur-de-Marie thus continued: "Next day the one-eyed woman gave me a similar allowance for breakfast as for supper, and sent me to Montfauçon to get some worms to bait for fish; for in the daytime the Chouette kept her stall for selling fishing-lines, near the bridge of Notre Dame. For a child of seven years of age, who is half dead with hunger and cold, it is a long way from the Rue de la Mortellerie to Montfauçon." "But exercise has made you grow as straight as an arrow, my girl; you have no reason to complain of that," said the Chourineur, striking a light for his pipe. "Well," said the Goualeuse, "I returned very, very tired; then, at noon, the Chouette gave me a little bit of bread." "Ah, eating so little has kept your figure as fine as a needle, girl; you must not find fault with that," said Chourineur, puffing out a cloud of tobacco-smoke. "But what ails you, comrade--I mean, Master Rodolph? You seem quite down like; are you sorry for the girl and her miseries? Ah, we all have, and have had, our miseries!" "Yes, but not such miseries as mine, Chourineur," said Fleur-de-Marie. "What! not I, Goualeuse? Why, my lass, you were a queen to me! At least, when you were little you slept on straw and ate bread; I passed my most comfortable nights in the lime-kilns at Clichy, like a regular vagabond; I fed on cabbage-stumps and other refuse vegetables, which I picked up when and where I could; but very often, as it was so far to the lime-kilns at Clichy, and I was tired after my work, I slept under the large stones at the Louvre; and then, in winter, I had white sheets,--that is, whenever the snow fell." "A man is stronger; but a poor little girl--" said Fleur-de-Marie. "And yet, with all that, I was as plump as a skylark." "What! you remember that, eh?"