“But a physician had to be called in.  There had been witnesses who spoke.  The story spread along the river, as far as Bougival and Rueil.  And one morning an officer of gendarmes called at the house; and I don’t exactly know what would have happened, if I had not obstinately maintained that I had broken my arm in falling down stairs.”

What surprised Maxence most was Mlle. Lucienne’s simple and natural tone.  No emphasis, scarcely an appearance of emotion.  One might have thought it was somebody’s else life that she was narrating.  Meantime she was going on,

“Thanks to my obstinate denials the woman was not disturbed.  But the truth was known; and her reputation, which was not good before, became altogether bad.  I became an object of interest.  The very same people who had seen me twenty times staggering painfully under a load of wet clothes, which was terrible, began to pity me prodigiously because I had had an arm broken, which was nothing.

“At last a number of our customers arranged to take me out of a house, in which, they said, I must end by perishing under bad treatment.

“And, after many fruitless efforts, they discovered, at last, at La Jonchere, an old Jewess lady, very rich, and a widow without children, who consented to take charge of me.

“I hesitated at first to accept these offers; but noticing that the laundress, since she had hurt me, had conceived a still greater aversion for me, I made up my mind to leave her.

“It was on the day when I was introduced to my new mistress that I first discovered I had no name.  After examining me at length, turning me around and around, making me walk, and sit down, ‘Now,’ she inquired, ‘what is your name?’

“I stared at her in surprise; for indeed I was then like a savage, not having the slightest notions of the things of life.

“‘My name is the Parisian,’ I replied.

“She burst out laughing, as also another old lady, a friend of hers, who assisted at my presentation; and I remember that my little pride was quite offended at their hilarity.  I thought they were laughing at me.

“‘That’s not a name,’ they said at last.  ‘That’s a nickname.’

“‘I have no other.’

“They seemed dumfounded, repeating over and over that such a thing was unheard of; and on the spot they began to look for a name for me.

“‘Where were you born?’ inquired my new mistress.

“‘At Louveciennes.’

“‘Very well,’ said the other:  ‘let us call her Louvecienne.’

“A long discussion followed, which irritated me so much that I felt like running away; and it was agreed at last, that I should be called, not Louvecienne, but Lucienne; and Lucienne I have remained.

“There was nothing said about baptism, since my new mistress was a Jewess.

“She was an excellent woman, although the grief she had felt at the loss of her husband had somewhat deranged her faculties.