offers and seductions—­brilliant, indeed, for her, since they offered food to satisfy her hunger, shelter from the cold, and decent raiment, without being obliged to work fifteen hours a day in an obscure and unwholesome hovel—­Cephyse listened to the vows of a young lawyer’s clerk, who forsook her soon after.  She formed a connection with another clerk, whom she (instructed by the examples set her), forsook in turn for a bagman, whom she afterwards cast off for other favorites.  In a word, what with changing and being forsaken, Cephyse, in the course of one or two years, was the idol of a set of grisettes, students and clerks; and acquired such a reputation at the balls on the Hampstead Heaths of Paris, by her decision of character, original turn of mind, and unwearied ardor in all kinds of pleasures, and especially her wild, noisy gayety, that she was termed the Bacchanal Queen, and proved herself in every way worthy of this bewildering royalty.

From that time poor Mother Bunch only heard of her sister at rare intervals.  She still mourned for her, and continued to toil hard to gain her three-and-six a week.  The unfortunate girl, having been taught sewing by Frances, made coarse shirts for the common people and the army.  For these she received half-a-crown a dozen.  They had to be hemmed, stitched, provided with collars and wristbands, buttons, and button holes; and at the most, when at work twelve and fifteen hours a day, she rarely succeeded in turning out more than fourteen or sixteen shirts a week—­an excessive amount of toil that brought her in about three shillings and fourpence a week.  And the case of this poor girl was neither accidental nor uncommon.  And this, because the remuneration given for women’s work is an example of revolting injustice and savage barbarism.  They are paid not half as much as men who are employed at the needle:  such as tailors, and makers of gloves, or waistcoats, etc.—­no doubt because women can work as well as men—­because they are more weak and delicate—­and because their need may be twofold as great when they become mothers.

Well, Mother Bunch fagged on, with three-and-four a week.  That is to say, toiling hard for twelve or fifteen hours every day; she succeeded in keeping herself alive, in spite of exposure to hunger, cold, and poverty—­so numerous were her privations.  Privations?  No!  The word privation expresses but weakly that constant and terrible want of all that is necessary to preserve the existence God gives; namely, wholesome air and shelter, sufficient and nourishing food and warm clothing.  Mortification would be a better word to describe that total want of all that is essentially vital, which a justly organized state of society ought—­yes—­ought necessarily to bestow on every active, honest workman and workwoman, since civilization has dispossessed them of all territorial right, and left them no other patrimony than their hands.