But if she were to die? Her lips trembled. Those two children of hers, Toto and Dodor! They crossed her imagination together, feckless creatures, one so like the other in character, either jumping about on their perches, or moping, irresponsible, and terribly in need of someone to tidy their cages, talk to them, and love them. She was passing a frightful criticism on Toto, but she did not know it. Perhaps the only people who criticise us justly are the people who love us, for our perfections and imperfections are to them all one country, and of that country perhaps our imperfections are the fairest part. Just as she reached the middle of the Place de la Concorde the clouds burst. It was like a huge shower bath, of which the string had suddenly been pulled. In a second the Madeleine and Rue Royale on one hand, and the big letters announcing the Chamber of Deputies on the other, were veiled by sheets of rain. Célestin awoke suddenly from her painful, half-pleasurable reverie, to find herself drenched. She had no umbrella, and her friends the omnibuses were not near, so she ran through sheets of rain, till her hat was ruined, and then she hid in a doorway, panting, and with her hand to her breast. The shower spent itself in ten minutes, and the day smiled out again brighter than ever. So she pursued her way to the Rue de Perpignan, wet to the skin, and rejecting the idea of an omnibus because of the expense for one thing, and, besides, she was wet already, and it was safer to walk and keep warm. When she reached the atelier she found Toto carefully drying himself at the stove. He, too, had been caught by the rain, but not so badly. She insisted upon his taking off his coat, and whilst it was drying she talked to him and laughed to cheer him up. Then she spread the cloth on the table, for it was time for _déjeuner_, and lastly she went to the bedroom, like a prudent person, and changed her things. But the beautiful hat was ruined beyond redemption, and as she gazed at it she gave a little shiver. That evening, when the lamp was lit, she told Toto all about Mme. Hümmel, the selling of the hats, the gift of the napoleon, and the desire of the forewoman to see him and lecture him. Toto listened half unconsciously. He was already revolving in his mind plans of escape from his cage. He had fixed upon Gaillard as the man of all others to help him, but he had not seen Gaillard now for four days. As Célestin finished her story—she was sitting upon the floor, her head resting against Toto’s knee—a shudder ran through her, and her teeth chattered. “Why,” cried Toto, “what is this? What makes you shiver so?” “I don’t know,” said Célestin, half laughing. “I did not do it on purpose;” and again the rigor seized her, as if someone were shaking her by the shoulder. “I will go to bed,” she said, rising to her feet. “My head swims.”