That was two years ago:  since then I had not seen the child again but at long intervals, and I had almost forgotten her; but Paulette’s memory was that of a grateful heart, and she came at the beginning of the year to offer me her wishes for my happiness.  She brought me, besides, a wallflower in full bloom; she herself had planted and reared it:  it was something that belonged wholly to herself; for it was by her care, her perseverance, and her patience, that she had obtained it.

The wallflower had grown in a common pot; but Paulette, who is a bandbox-maker, had put it into a case of varnished paper, ornamented with arabesques.  These might have been in better taste, but I did not feel the attention and good-will the less.

This unexpected present, the little girl’s modest blushes, the compliments she stammered out, dispelled, as by a sunbeam, the kind of mist which had gathered round my mind; my thoughts suddenly changed from the leaden tints of evening to the brightest colors of dawn.  I made Paulette sit down, and questioned her with a light heart.

At first the little girl replied in monosyllables; but very soon the tables were turned, and it was I who interrupted with short interjections her long and confidential talk.  The poor child leads a hard life.  She was left an orphan long since, with a brother and sister, and lives with an old grandmother, who has “brought them up to poverty,” as she always calls it.

However, Paulette now helps her to make bandboxes, her little sister Perrine begins to use the needle, and her brother Henry is apprentice to a printer.  All would go well if it were not for losses and want of work—­if it were not for clothes which wear out, for appetites which grow larger, and for the winter, when you cannot get sunshine for nothing.  Paulette complains that her candles go too quickly, and that her wood costs too much.  The fireplace in their garret is so large that a fagot makes no more show in it than a match; it is so near the roof that the wind blows the rain down it, and in winter it hails upon the hearth; so they have left off using it.  Henceforth they must be content with an earthen chafing-dish, upon which they cook their meals.  The grandmother had often spoken of a stove that was for sale at the broker’s close by; but he asked seven francs for it, and the times are too hard for such an expense:  the family, therefore, resign themselves to cold for economy!

As Paulette spoke, I felt more and more that I was losing my fretfulness and low spirits.  The first disclosures of the little bandbox-maker created within me a wish that soon became a plan.  I questioned her about her daily occupations, and she informed me that on leaving me she must go, with her brother, her sister, and grandmother, to the different people for whom they work.  My plan was immediately settled.  I told the child that I would go to see her in the evening, and I sent her away with fresh thanks.