w that I recall them, it seems to me that she was not as jovial
as usual. Can Mother Genevieve be in trouble about anything?

Poor woman! All her best years were subject to such bitter trials, that
she might think she had received her full share already. Were I to live
a hundred years, I should never forget the circumstances which made her
known to me, and which obtained for her my respect.

It was at the time of my first settling in the faubourg. I had noticed
her empty fruit-shop, which nobody came into, and, being attracted by
its forsaken appearance, I made my little purchases in it. I have always
instinctively preferred the poor shops; there is less choice in them,
but it seems to me that my purchase is a sign of sympathy with a brother
in poverty. These little dealings are almost always an anchor of hope
to those whose very existence is in peril--the only means by which some
orphan gains a livelihood. There the aim of the tradesman is not to
enrich himself, but to live! The purchase you make of him is more than
an exchange--it is a good action.

Mother Genevieve at that time was still young, but had already lost that
fresh bloom of youth which suffering causes to wither so soon among
the poor. Her husband, a clever joiner, gradually left off working to
become, according to the picturesque expression of the workshops, a
worshipper of Saint Monday. The wages of the week, which was always
reduced to two or three working days, were completely dedicated by him
to the worship of this god of the Barriers,--[The cheap wine shops are
outside the Barriers, to avoid the octroi, or municipal excise.]--and
Genevieve was obliged herself to provide for all the wants of the
household.

One evening, when I went to make some trifling purchases of her, I
heard a sound of quarrelling in the back shop. There were the voices of
several women, among which I distinguished that of Genevieve, broken by
sobs. On looking farther in, I perceived the fruit-woman holding a child
in her arms, and kissing it, while a country nurse seemed to be claiming
her wages from her. The poor woman, who without doubt had exhausted
every explanation and every excuse, was crying in silence, and one of
her neighbors was trying in vain to appease the countrywoman. Excited by
that love of money which the evils of a hard peasant life but too well
excuse, and disappointed by the refusal of her expected wages, the nurse
was launching forth in recriminations, thre