Alphonsina, having made the fire, went out with a bundle.  It was Aurora’s last good dress.  She was going to try to sell it.

“It ought not to be so hard,” began Clotilde, in a quiet manner of contemplating some one else’s difficulty, but paused with the saying uncompleted, and sighed under her breath.

“But it is so hard,” responded Aurora.

“No, it ought not to be so hard—­”

“How, not so hard?”

“It is not so hard to live,” said Clotilde; “but it is hard to be ladies.  You understand—­” she knit her fingers, dropped them into her lap and turned her eyes toward Aurora, who responded with the same motions, adding the crossing of her silk-stockinged ankles before the fire.

“No,” said Aurora, with a scintillation of irrepressible mischief in her eyes.

“After all,” pursued Clotilde, “what troubles us is not how to make a living, but how to get a living without making it.”

“Ah! that would be magnificent!” said Aurora, and then added, more soberly; “but we are compelled to make a living.”

“No.”

“No-o?  Ah! what do you mean with your ’no’?”

“I mean it is just the contrary; we are compelled not to make a living.  Look at me:  I can cook, but I must not cook; I am skillful with the needle, but I must not take in sewing; I could keep accounts; I could nurse the sick; but I must not.  I could be a confectioner, a milliner, a dressmaker, a vest-maker, a cleaner of gloves and laces, a dyer, a bird-seller, a mattress-maker, an upholsterer, a dancing-teacher, a florist—­”

“Oh!” softly exclaimed Aurora, in English, “you could be—­you know w’ad?—­an egcellen’ drug-cl’—­ah, ha, ha!”

“Now—­”

But the threatened irruption was averted by a look of tender apology from Aurora, in reply to one of martyrdom from Clotilde.

“My angel daughter,” said Aurora, “if society has decreed that ladies must be ladies, then that is our first duty; our second is to live.  Do you not see why it is that this practical world does not permit ladies to make a living?  Because if they could, none of them would ever consent to be married.  Ha! women talk about marrying for love; but society is too sharp to trust them, yet!  It makes it necessary to marry.  I will tell you the honest truth; some days when I get very, very hungry, and we have nothing but rice—­all because we are ladies without male protectors—­I think society could drive even me to marriage!—­for your sake, though, darling; of course, only for your sake!”

“Never!” replied Clotilde; “for my sake, never; for your own sake if you choose.  I should not care.  I should be glad to see you do so if it would make you happy; but never for my sake and never for hunger’s sake; but for love’s sake, yes; and God bless thee, pretty maman.”

“Clotilde, dear,” said the unconscionable widow, “let me assure you, once for all,—­starvation is preferable.  I mean for me, you understand, simply for me; that is my feeling on the subject.”