The woman presently appeared, looking, as Bixiou observed, like perambulating rags.  She was, in fact, a mass of old gowns, one on top of another, fringed with mud on account of the weather, the whole mounted on two thick legs with heavy feet which were ill-covered by ragged stockings and shoes from whose cracks the water oozed upon the floor.  Above the mound of rags rose a head like those that Charlet has given to his scavenger-women, caparisoned with a filthy bandanna handkerchief slit in the folds.

“What is your name?” said Joseph, while Bixiou sketched her, leaning on an umbrella belonging to the year II. of the Republic.

“Madame Gruget, at your service.  I’ve seen better days, my young gentleman,” she said to Bixiou, whose laugh affronted her.  “If my poor girl hadn’t had the ill-luck to love some one too much, you wouldn’t see me what I am.  She drowned herself in the river, my poor Ida, —­saving your presence!  I’ve had the folly to nurse up a quaterne, and that’s why, at seventy-seven years of age, I’m obliged to take care of sick folks for ten sous a day, and go—­”

“—­without clothes?” said Bixiou.  “My grandmother nursed up a trey, but she dressed herself properly.”

“Out of my ten sous I have to pay for a lodging—­”

“What’s the matter with the lady you are nursing?”

“In the first place, she hasn’t got any money; and then she has a disease that scares the doctors.  She owes me for sixty days’ nursing; that’s why I keep on nursing her.  The husband, who is a count,—­she is really a countess,—­will no doubt pay me when she is dead; and so I’ve lent her all I had.  And now I haven’t anything; all I did have has gone to the pawn-brokers.  She owes me forty-seven francs and twelve sous, beside thirty francs for the nursing.  She wants to kill herself with charcoal.  I tell her it ain’t right; and, indeed, I’ve had to get the concierge to look after her while I’m gone, or she’s likely to jump out of the window.”

“But what’s the matter with her?” said Joseph.

“Ah! monsieur, the doctor from the Sisters’ hospital came; but as to the disease,” said Madame Gruget, assuming a modest air, “he told me she must go to the hospital.  The case is hopeless.”

“Let us go and see her,” said Bixiou.

“Here,” said Joseph to the woman, “take these ten francs.”

Plunging his hand into the skull and taking out all his remaining money, the painter called a coach from the rue Mazarin and went to find Bianchon, who was fortunately at home.  Meantime Bixiou went off at full speed to the rue de Bussy, after Desroches.  The four friends reached Flore’s retreat in the rue du Houssay an hour later.