This was indeed true.  And Norine burst into big sobs:  “Mon Dieu! you are beginning to torture me again.  Do you think that I shall take any pleasure in getting rid of him now?  You force me to say things which make me weep at night when I think of them.  I shall feel as if my very vitals were being torn out when this child is taken from me!  There, are you both pleased that you have made me say it?  But what good does it do to put me in such a state, since nobody can remedy things, and he must needs go to the foundlings, while I return to the gutter, to wait for the broom that’s to sweep me away?”

But Cecile, who likewise was weeping, kissed and kissed the child, and again reverted to her dream, explaining how happy they would be, all three of them, in a nice room, which she pictured full of endless joys, like some Paradise.  It was by no means difficult to cut out and paste up the little boxes.  As soon as Norine should know the work, she, who was strong, might perhaps earn three francs a day at it.  And five francs a day between them, would not that mean fortune, the rearing of the child, and all evil things forgotten, at an end?  Norine, more weary than ever, gave way at last, and ceased refusing.

“You daze me,” she said.  “I don’t know.  Do as you like—­but certainly it will be great happiness to keep this dear little fellow with me.”

Cecile, enraptured, clapped her hands; while Mathieu, who was greatly moved, gave utterance to these deeply significant words:  “You have saved him, and now he saves you.”

Then Norine at last smiled.  She felt happy now; a great weight had been lifted from her heart.  And carrying her child in her arms she insisted on accompanying her sister and their friend to the first floor.

During the last half-hour Constance and Madame Angelin had been deep in consultation with Madame Bourdieu.  The former had not given her name, but had simply played the part of an obliging friend accompanying another on an occasion of some delicacy.  Madame Bourdieu, with the keen scent characteristic of her profession, divined a possible customer in that inquisitive lady who put such strange questions to her.  However, a rather painful scene took place, for realizing that she could not forever deceive Madame Angelin with false hopes, Madame Bourdieu decided to tell the truth—­her case was hopeless.  Constance, however, at last made a sign to entreat her to continue deceiving her friend, if only for charity’s sake.  The other, therefore, while conducting her visitors to the landing, spoke a few hopeful words to Madame Angelin:  “After all, dear madame,” said she, “one must never despair.  I did wrong to speak as I did just now.  I may yet be mistaken.  Come back to see me again.”