Chance had thrown into her hands one of those small handbills which bill-stickers paste upon the gutters, and in which workwomen are “wanted.”  Henceforth she spent her days in looking up these handbills, and in going to places from which they were issued.  But here she met with the same difficulties.  There was no end of questions.

“Who are you?  Where have you been?  By whom have you been employed?” and finally, always the same distressing answer,—­

“We cannot employ persons like you.”

Then she went to an employment agency.  She had noticed one which displayed at the door a huge placard, on which places were offered from thirty-five up to a thousand francs a month.  She went up stairs.  A very loquacious gentleman made her first deposit a considerable sum, and then told her he had exactly what she wanted.  She went ten times back to the office, and always in vain.  After an eleventh appointment, he gave her the address of two houses, in one of which he assured her she would certainly be employed.  These two houses turned out to be two small shops, where pretty young ladies were wanted to pour out absinthe, and to wait upon the customers.

This was Henrietta’s last effort.  For ten months she had now been struggling with a kind of helpless fury against inconquerable difficulties, and at last the springs of her energy had lost their elasticity.  Now, crushed in body and mind, overwhelmed and conquered, she gave up.

It lacked still eighteen months before she would become of age.  Since she had escaped from her father’s house, she had not received a line from Daniel, although she had constantly written to him, and she had, of course, no means of ascertaining the date of his return.  She had once, following M. de Brevan’s advice, summoned courage enough to go to the navy department, and there to inquire if they had any news about “The Conquest.”  A clerk had replied to her, with a joke, that “The Conquest” might be afloat yet “a year or two.”  How could the poor girl wait till then?  Why should she any longer maintain the useless struggle?  She felt acute pains in her chest; she coughed; and, after walking a few yards, her legs gave way under her, and she broke out in cold perspiration.  She now spent her days almost always in bed, shivering with chills, or plunged in a kind of stupor, during which her mind was filled with dismal visions.  She felt as if the very sources of life were drying up within her, and as if all her blood was, drop by drop, oozing out of her through an open wound.

“If I could die thus!” she thought.

This was the last favor she asked of God.  Henceforth, a miracle alone could save her; and she hardly wished to be saved.  A perfect indifference and intense distaste of every thing filled her soul.  She thought she had exhausted all that man can suffer; and there was nothing left for her to fear.