y call
the Chouette,[6] because she had a hooked nose, a green eye quite round,
and was like an owl with one eye out."

[6] The Screech-owl.

"Ha! ha! ha! I think I see her, the old night-bird!" shouted the
Chourineur, laughing.

"The one-eyed woman," resumed Fleur-de-Marie, "made me sell barley-sugar
in the evenings on the Pont Neuf; but that was only an excuse for asking
charity; and when I did not bring her in at least ten sous, the Chouette
beat me instead of giving me any supper."

"Are you sure the woman was not your mother?" inquired Rodolph.

"Quite sure; for she often scolded me for being fatherless and
motherless, and said she picked me up one day in the street."

"So," said the Chourineur, "you had a dance instead of a meal, if you
did not pick up ten sous?"

"Yes. And after that I went to lie down on some straw spread on the
ground; when I was cold--very cold."

"I do not doubt it, for the feather of beans (straw) is a very cold sort
of stuff," said the Chourineur. "A dung-heap is twice as good; but then
people don't like your smell, and say, 'Oh, the blackguard! where has he
been?'"

This remark made Rodolph smile, whilst Fleur-de-Marie thus continued:
"Next day the one-eyed woman gave me a similar allowance for breakfast
as for supper, and sent me to Montfaucon to get some worms to bait for
fish; for in the daytime the Chouette kept her stall for selling
fishing-lines, near the bridge of Notre Dame. For a child of seven years
of age, who is half dead with hunger and cold, it is a long way from the
Rue de la Mortellerie to Montfaucon."

"But exercise has made you grow as straight as an arrow, my girl; you
have no reason to complain of that," said the Chourineur, striking a
light for his pipe.

"Well," said the Goualeuse, "I returned very, very tired; then, at noon,
the Chouette gave me a little bit of bread."

"Ah, eating so little has kept your figure as fine as a needle, girl;
you must not find fault with that," said Chourineur, puffing out a cloud
of tobacco-smoke. "But what ails you, comrade--I mean, Master Rodolph?
You seem quite down like; are you sorry for the girl and her miseries?
Ah, we all have, and have had, our miseries!"

"Yes, but not such miseries as mine, Chourineur," said Fleur-de-Marie.

"What! not I, Goualeuse? Why, my lass, you were a queen to me! At least,
when you were little you slept on straw and ate bread; I passed my most
comfortable nights in the lime-kilns at