; that he said some insect had stung the
child; that she had been to him a second time; that she did not know
what more to do; that she had had pilgrimages made for her. The letter
concluded thus: "If you could see how troubled I am for your little
one--if you could see how good she is when she isn't suffering!"

This letter produced upon Germinie the effect of a push from behind. She
went out and instinctively walked toward the railroad that would take
her to her little one. Her hair was uncombed and she was in her
slippers, but she did not think of that. She must see her child, she
must see her instantly. Then she would come back. She thought of
mademoiselle's breakfast for a moment, then forgot it. Suddenly,
half-way to the station, she saw a clock at a cab office and noticed
the hour: she remembered that there was no train at that time. She
retraced her steps, saying to herself that she would hurry the breakfast
and then make some excuse to be given her liberty for the rest of the
day. But when the breakfast was served she could find none: her mind was
so full of her child that she could not invent a falsehood; her
imagination was benumbed. And then, if she had spoken, if she had made
the request, she would have betrayed herself; she could feel the words
upon her lips: "I want to go and see my child!" At night she dared not
make her escape; mademoiselle had been a little indisposed the night
before; she was afraid that she might need her.

The next morning when she entered mademoiselle's room with a fable she
had invented during the night, all ready to ask for leave of absence,
mademoiselle said to her, looking up from a letter that had just been
sent up to her from the lodge: "Ah! my old friend De Belleuse wants you
for the whole day to-day, to help her with her preserves. Come, give me
my two eggs, post-haste, and off with you. Eh? what! doesn't that suit
you? What's the matter?"

"With me? why nothing at all!" Germinie found strength to say.

All that endless day she passed standing over hot stewpans and sealing
up jars, in the torture known only to those whom the chances of life
detain at a distance from the sick bed of those dear to them. She
suffered such heart-rending agony as those unhappy creatures suffer who
cannot go where their anxiety calls them, and who, in the extremity of
despair caused by separation and uncertainty, constantly imagine that
death will come in their absence.

As she received no l