ess, since she had hurt me, had conceived a still greater
aversion for me, I made up my mind to leave her.

"It was on the day when I was introduced to my new mistress that I
first discovered I had no name. After examining me at length,
turning me around and around, making me walk, and sit down, 'Now,'
she inquired, 'what is your name?'

"I stared at her in surprise; for indeed I was then like a savage,
not having the slightest notions of the things of life.

"'My name is the Parisian,' I replied.

"She burst out laughing, as also another old lady, a friend of hers,
who assisted at my presentation; and I remember that my little pride
was quite offended at their hilarity. I thought they were laughing
at me.

"'That's not a name,' they said at last. 'That's a nickname.'

"'I have no other.'

"They seemed dumfounded, repeating over and over that such a thing
was unheard of; and on the spot they began to look for a name for me.

"'Where were you born?' inquired my new mistress.

"'At Louveciennes.'

"'Very well,' said the other: 'let us call her Louvecienne.'

"A long discussion followed, which irritated me so much that I felt
like running away; and it was agreed at last, that I should be
called, not Louvecienne, but Lucienne; and Lucienne I have remained.

"There was nothing said about baptism, since my new mistress was a
Jewess.

"She was an excellent woman, although the grief she had felt at the
loss of her husband had somewhat deranged her faculties.

"As soon as it was decided that I was to remain, she desired to
inspect my trousseau. I had none to show her, possessing nothing
in the world but the rags on my back. As long as I had remained
with the laundress, I had finished wearing out her old dresses; and
I had never worn any other under-clothing save that which I borrowed,
'by authority,' from the clients,--an economical system adopted by
many laundresses.

"Dismayed at my state of destitution, my new mistress sent for a
seamstress, and at once ordered wherewith to dress and change me.

"Since the death of the poor gardeners, this was the first time that
any one paid any attention to me, except to exact some service of me.
I was moved to tears; and, in the excess of my gratitude, I would
gladly have died for that kind old lady.

"This feeling gave me the courage and the constancy required to bear
with her whimsical nature. She had singular manias, disconcerting
fancies, ridiculous and ofte