lle. Lucienne were noticing the flight of time, so
interested were they, one in telling, and the other in listening to,
this story of a wonderful existence. However, Mlle. Lucienne's
voice had become hoarse with fatigue. She poured herself a glass
of water, which she emptied at a draught, and then at once,

"Never yet," she resumed, "had I been agitated by such a sweet
sensation. My eyes were full of tears; but they were tears of
gratitude and joy. After so many years of isolation, to meet with
such a friend, so generous, and so devoted: it was like finding a
family. For a few weeks, I thought that fate had relented at last.
My friend was an excellent workwoman; but with some intelligence,
and the will to learn, I soon knew as much as she did.

"There was plenty of work. By working twelve hours, with the help
of the thrice-blessed sewing-machine, we succeeded in making six,
seven, and even eight francs a day. It was a fortune.

"Thus several months elapsed in comparative comfort.

"Once more I was afloat, and I had more clothes than I had lost in
my trunk. I liked the life I was leading; and I would be leading
it still, if my friend had not one day fallen desperately in love
with a young man she had met at a ball. I disliked him very much,
and took no trouble to conceal my feelings: nevertheless, my friend
imagined that I had designs upon him, and became fiercely jealous
of me. Jealousy does not reason; and I soon understood that we
would no longer be able to live in common, and that I must look
elsewhere for shelter. But my friend gave me no time to do so.

"Coming home one Monday night at about eleven, she notified me to
clear out at once. I attempted to expostulate: she replied with
abuse. Rather than enter upon a degrading struggle, I yielded,
and went out.

"That night I spent on a chair in a neighbor's room. But the next
day, when I went for my things, my former friend refused to give
them, and presumed to keep every thing. I was compelled, though
reluctantly, to resort to the intervention of the commissary of
police.

"I gained my point. But the good days had gone. Luck did not follow
me to the wretched furnished house where I hired a room. I had no
sewing-machine, and but few acquaintances. By working fifteen or
sixteen hours a day, I made thirty or forty cents. That was not
enough to live on. Then work failed me altogether, and, piece by
piece, every thing I had went to the pawnbro