n there to be despoiled
of their money, perhaps of their lives; must laugh and be gay, though
my heart break at its own debasement. There have been many, ah, so
many, I have lured to that place; and it came so near to costing you
your life--you who were so kind to Florine."

She had sunk to the floor, and catching my hand poured out all the
bitterness of her heart.

"Yet, Monsieur, what can Florine do? There is no way for a weak woman
to do anything in this wretched Paris. If I do not bring players to
the house my aunt beats me. See," she drew up her sleeve, and exposed
the welts of cruel cuts across the bare white flesh. "She denies me
food in my garret. So I must work, be merry and work--and weep all the
day for the misery of the nights." My heart went out to the girl with
all sympathy, but, every whit as helpless as she, I only wondered what
could be done.

"Monsieur, it was not of my choosing, believe me, believe me, it really
was not. My father thought his sister so well off in this fine Paris,
when she offered to bring me up as her own child, and sent us presents,
he made me come with her. We were so poor, so cruelly poor. My mother
could not come for me, and now how can I go back? I dare not let her
know how I am treated. It would break her heart, and she is so old and
tottering. If I seek other employment no one will take me, no one
would give me a character for service. All the world is open to you.
You go where you please, do what pleases you. All the world is shut to
Florine. And you, Monsieur, my only friend, I hoped when you were well
again, such a rich gentleman could find me a place among his friends;
find me some quiet place where I might live and be of use, not bringing
evil to all I touch. What an evil life, what a wicked life I lead.
Oh, Monsieur, save me from it; save me! The horrible man you defended
me from that night pursues me everywhere; my aunt is jealous because of
him. She hates me now and would like to drive me out upon the
streets--ugh! the terror of it. But her husband won't let her; he is
kinder than she. See, I am pretty, I bring custom. She can not tell
her husband why she hates me. No, no. Bertrand would kill her. And I
dare not tell him. They would kill me--"

Her speech rambled on now, disconnected and incoherent. Still by
catching sentences here and there the whole pitiful story was clear to
me. My eyes would always overflow at sight of woman's suffer