have no child left.  Why had she none other?  Was it not she who had willed it thus?  At this thought a feeling of desperate regret shot through her like a red-hot blade, burning her cruelly to the very depths of her being.  Maurice, however, at last recovered consciousness, and even sat down to the table and ate with a fair appetite.  Then Beauchene immediately shrugged his shoulders, and began to jest about the unreasoning fears of women.  And as time went by Constance herself ceased to think of the incident.

On the morrow, when Mathieu had to attend to the delicate mission which he had undertaken, he remembered the two women of whom Celeste, the maid, had spoken on the day of his visit to the Seguins.  He at first dismissed all idea of that Madame Rouche, of whom the girl had spoken so strangely, but he thought of making some inquiries respecting Madame Bourdieu, who accommodated boarders at the little house where she resided in the Rue de Miromesnil.  And he seemed to remember that this woman had attended Madame Morange at the time of Reine’s birth, a circumstance which induced him to question the cashier.

At the very first words the latter seemed greatly disturbed.  “Yes, a lady friend recommended Madame Bourdieu to my wife,” said he; “but why do you ask me?”

And as he spoke he looked at Mathieu with an expression of anguish, as if that sudden mention of Madame Bourdieu’s name signified that the young fellow had guessed his secret preoccupations.  It was as though he had been abruptly surprised in wrong-doing.  Perhaps, too, certain dim, haunting thoughts, which he had long been painfully revolving in his mind, without as yet being able to come to a decision, took shape at that moment.  At all events, he turned pale and his lips trembled.

Then, as Mathieu gave him to understand that it was a question of placing Norine somewhere, he involuntarily let an avowal escape him.

“My wife was speaking to me of Madame Bourdieu only this morning,” he began.  “Oh!  I don’t know how it happened, but, as you are aware, Reine was born so many years ago that I can’t give you any precise information.  It seems that the woman has done well, and is now at the head of a first-class establishment.  Inquire there yourself; I have no doubt you will find what you want there.”

Mathieu followed this advice; but at the same time, as he had been warned that Madame Bourdieu’s terms were rather high, he stifled his prejudices and began by repairing to the Rue du Rocher in order to reconnoitre Madame Rouche’s establishment and make some inquiries of her.  The mere aspect of the place chilled him.  It was one of the black houses of old Paris, with a dark, evil-smelling passage, leading into a small yard which the nurse’s few squalid rooms overlooked.  Above the passage entrance was a yellow signboard which simply bore the name of Madame Rouche in big letters.  She herself proved to be a person of five- or six-and-thirty,