nanimous in the pages she had just read, Florine
bathed her failing virtue in that pure and vivifying source, and,
yielding, at last to one of those good impulses which sometimes carried
her away, she left the room with the manuscript in her hand, determined,
if Mother Bunch had not yet returned, to replace it--resolved to tell
Rodin that, this second time, her search for the journal had been vain,
the sempstress having no doubt discovered the first attempt.

[26] In the Ruche Populaire, a working man's organ, are the following
particulars:

"Carding Mattresses.--The dust which flies out of the wool makes carding
destructive to health in any case, but trade adulterations enhance the
danger. In sticking sheep, the skin gets blood-spotted; it has to be
bleached to make it salable. Lime is the main whitener, and some of it
clings to the wool after the process. The dresser (female, most often)
breathes in the fine dust, and, by lung and other complaints, is far from
seldom deplorably situated; the majority sicken of it and give up the
trade, while those who keep to it, at the very least, suffer with a
catarrh or asthma that torments them until death.

"As for horsehair, the very best is not pure. You can judge what the
inferior quality is, from the workgirls calling it vitriol hair, because
it is the refuse or clippings from goats and swine, washed in vitriol,
boiled in dyes, etc., to burn and disguise such foreign bodies as straw.
thorns, splinters, and even bits of skin, not worth picking out. The dust
rising when a mass of this is beaten, makes as many ravages as the
lime-wool."

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE DISCOVERY.

A little while before Florine made up her mind to atone for her shameful
breach of confidence, Mother Bunch had returned from the factory, after
accomplishing to the end her painful task. After a long interview with
Angela, struck, like Agricola, with the ingenuous grace, sense, and
goodness, with which the young girl was endowed, Mother Bunch had the
courageous frankness to advise the smith to enter into this marriage. The
following scene took place whilst Florine, still occupied in reading the
journal, had not yet taken the praiseworthy resolution of replacing it.
It was ten o'clock at night. The workgirl, returned to Cardoville House,
had just entered her chamber. Worn out by so many emotions, she had
thrown herself into a chair. The deepest silence reigned in the house. It
was now and then interr