“No, madame, Monsieur has not come back yet.  But that woman of my village is here.  You know, madame, the woman I spoke to you about, Sophie Couteau, La Couteau as we call her at Rougemont, who brings nurses to Paris?”

“Well, what of it?” exclaimed Valentine, on the point of ordering Celeste to leave the room, for it seemed to her quite outrageous to be disturbed in this manner.

“Well, madame, she’s here; and as I told you before, if you would intrust her with the matter now she would find a very good wet nurse for you in the country, and bring her here whenever she’s wanted.”

La Couteau had been standing behind the door, which had remained ajar, and scarcely had Celeste finished than, without waiting for an invitation, she boldly entered the room.  She was a quick little wizened woman, with certain peasant ways, but considerably polished by her frequent journeys to Paris.  So far as her small keen eyes and pointed nose went her long face was not unpleasant, but its expression of good nature was marred by her hard mouth, her thin lips, suggestive of artfulness and cupidity.  Her gown of dark woollen stuff, her black cape, black mittens, and black cap with yellow ribbons, gave her the appearance of a respectable countrywoman going to mass in her Sunday best.

“Have you been a nurse?” Valentine inquired, as she scrutinized her.

“Yes, madame,” replied La Couteau, “but that was ten years ago, when I was only twenty.  It seemed to me that I wasn’t likely to make much money by remaining a nurse, and so I preferred to set up as an agent to bring others to Paris.”

As she spoke she smiled, like an intelligent woman who feels that those who give their services as wet nurses to bourgeois families are simply fools and dupes.  However, she feared that she might have said too much on the point, and so she added:  “But one does what one can, eh, madame?  The doctor told me that I should never do for a nurse again, and so I thought that I might perhaps help the poor little dears in another manner.”

“And you bring wet nurses to the Paris offices?”

“Yes, madame, twice a month.  I supply several offices, but more particularly Madame Broquette’s office in the Rue Roquepine.  It’s a very respectable place, where one runs no risk of being deceived—­And so, if you like, madame, I will choose the very best I can find for you—­the pick of the bunch, so to say.  I know the business thoroughly, and you can rely on me.”

As her mistress did not immediately reply, Celeste ventured to intervene, and began by explaining how it happened that La Couteau had called that day.

“When she goes back into the country, madame, she almost always takes a baby with her, sometimes a nurse’s child, and sometimes the child of people who are not well enough off to keep a nurse in the house.  And she takes these children to some of the rearers in the country.  She just now came to see me before going round to my friend Madame Menoux, whose baby she is to take away with her.”