“Oh, yes!” said the girl. “My parcel is but a hat I am taking to M. Verral in the Rue St. Honoré. I do not live there, monsieur; I work for him at home. I live all alone in a little room near the Rue de Babylone—I and Dodor;” and she cast up her April-blue eyes as if through the rim of her hat she saw Dodor in the blue April skies, together with a vision of angels. “Who is Dodor?” inquired Toto in a gruff and almost jealous voice. “He is my lark,” said the girl; and Toto brightened. “You have a lark?” “Oh, yes, monsieur; and if you could hear him sing! He brings the green fields to Paris in his voice.” “You keep him in a cage?” asked Toto, searching for conversation to fit a lark of this description, and not finding much. “I keep him in a very big cage, monsieur. Ah! his cage ought to be the blue heavens; but, then, how could I hear him sing? I bought him in a little cage—not so big; but the parrot of Mme. Liard, our concierge, dying, I bought its cage—one, oh, so big;” and she measured the width of a wine-tun with hands that fluttered out like white butterflies, for Toto had wrested from her the parcel; also, she wore no gloves. “Dear me! how funny! And you call him Dodor. This is Verral’s, is it not? Now, may I—please don’t think me rude—may I wait for you? I have nothing to do—I mean, I want to hear more about Dodor. I cannot say ‘mademoiselle’; it sounds so stiff. _My_ name is To—Désiré Cammora.” “And mine, monsieur, is Célestin Sabatier. I will run in with the hat. If I can see the forewoman, Mme. Hümmel, I will not detain you long.” “Don’t call me ‘monsieur,’” said Toto; but she had vanished. It was an extraordinary find, this—a real live Henri Murger grisette. She might have stepped out of “The Mysteries of Paris,” without her cap, of course, but even more charming in a hat. She was “all there,” even to the lark in the parrot cage. The parrot cage made him certain that the lark was no trumped-up tale; she would never have thought of inventing a parrot cage. He remembered with a sort of satisfaction the poverty and neatness of her dress. Ten minutes passed, and then she came out again, like April after a cloud has passed, smiling, and with an air of triumph. “Mme. Hümmel is so pleased, and I am so happy!” cried Célestin, as they walked away down the Rue St. Honoré, all beautiful with the morning. “She has given me an extra franc. Just think!” And she held out three in the pink shell of her palm. “How much do you get for making a hat?” asked Toto.