hand, and
while the porters were discharging in the Grand'Rue the packages and
passengers for Provins, he led the little girl, whose only baggage was a
bundle containing two dresses, two chemises, and two pairs of stockings,
to Mademoiselle Rogron's house, which was pointed out to him by the
director at the coach office.

"Good-evening, mademoiselle and the rest of the company. I've brought
you a cousin, and here she is; and a nice little girl too, upon my word.
You have forty-seven francs to pay me, and sign my book."

Mademoiselle Sylvie and her brother were dumb with pleasure and
amazement.

"Excuse me," said the conductor, "the coach is waiting. Sign my book and
pay me forty-seven francs, sixty centimes, and whatever you please for
myself and the conductor from Nantes; we've taken care of the little
girl as if she were our own; and paid for her beds and her food, also
her fare to Provins, and other little things."

"Forty-seven francs, twelve sous!" said Sylvie.

"You are not going to dispute it?" cried the man.

"Where's the bill?" said Rogron.

"Bill! look at the book."

"Stop talking, and pay him," said Sylvie, "You see there's nothing else
to be done."

Rogron went to get the money, and gave the man forty-seven francs,
twelve sous.

"And nothing for my comrade and me?" said the conductor.

Sylvie took two francs from the depths of the old velvet bag which held
her keys.

"Thank you, no," said the man; "keep 'em yourself. We would rather
care for the little one for her own sake." He picked up his book and
departed, saying to the servant-girl: "What a pair! it seems there are
crocodiles out of Egypt!"

"Such men are always brutal," said Sylvie, who overhead the words.

"They took good care of the little girl, anyhow," said Adele with her
hands on her hips.

"We don't have to live with him," remarked Rogron.

"Where's the little one to sleep?" asked Adele.

Such was the arrival of Pierrette Lorrain in the home of her cousins,
who gazed at her with stolid eyes; she was tossed to them like a
package, with no intermediate state between the wretched chamber at
Saint-Jacques and the dining-room of her cousins, which seemed to her a
palace. She was shy and speechless. To all other eyes than those of the
Rogrons the little Breton girl would have seemed enchanting as she
stood there in her petticoat of coarse blue flannel, with a pink cambric
apron, thick shoes, blue stockings, and a white kerchief,