This plausible explanation of Florine’s magnificent offers appeared to satisfy the hearer.  “I can now understand the high wages of which you speak, mademoiselle,” resumed she; “only I have no claim to be patronized by the charitable persons who direct this establishment.”

“You suffer—­you are laborious and honest—­those are sufficient claims; only, I must tell you, they will ask if you perform regularly your religious duties.”

“No one loves and blesses God more fervently than I do, mademoiselle,” said the hunchback, with mild firmness; “but certain duties are an affair of conscience, and I would rather renounce this patronage, than be compelled—­”

“Not the least in the world.  Only, as I told you, there are very pious persons at the head of this institution, and you must not be astonished at their questions on such a subject.  Make the trial, at all events; what do you risk?  If the propositions are suitable—­accept them; if, on the contrary, they should appear to touch your liberty of conscience, you can always refuse—­your position will not be the worse for it.”

Mother Bunch had nothing to object to this reasoning which left her at perfect freedom, and disarmed her of all suspicion.  “On these terms, mademoiselle,” said she, “I accept your offer, and thank you with all my heart.  But who will introduce me?”

“I will—­to-morrow, if you please.”

“But they will perhaps desire to make some inquiries about me.”

“The venerable Mother Sainte-Perpetue, Superior of St, Mary’s Convent, where the institution is established, will, I am sure, appreciate your good qualities without inquiry; but if otherwise, she will tell you, and you can easily satisfy her.  It is then agreed—­to-morrow.”

“Shall I call upon you here, mademoiselle?”

“No; as I told you before, they must not know that you came here on the part of M. Agricola, and a second visit might be discovered, and excite suspicion.  I will come and fetch you in a coach; where do you live?”

“At No. 3, Rue Brise-Miche; as you are pleased to give yourself so much trouble, mademoiselle, you have only to ask the dyer, who acts as porter, to call down Mother Bunch.”

“Mother Bunch?” said Florine, with surprise.

“Yes, mademoiselle,” answered the sempstress, with a sad smile; “it is the name every one gives me.  And you see,” added the hunchback, unable to restrain a tear, “it is because of my ridiculous infirmity, to which this name alludes, that I dread going out to work among strangers, because there are so many people who laugh at one, without knowing the pain they occasion.  But,” continued she, drying her eyes, “I have no choice, and must make up my mind to it.”

Florine, deeply affected, took the speaker’s hand, and said to her:  “Do not fear.  Misfortunes like yours must inspire compassion, not ridicule.  May I not inquire for you by your real name?”