And she felt very sorry for the ageing, feckless Madame Foucault, whose sincerity was obvious.  The association between them would be strange; it would have been impossible to explain it to St. Luke’s Square. ...  And yet, if there was anything at all in the virtue of Christian charity, what could properly be urged against the association?

“Ah!” murmured Madame Foucault, kissing Sophia’s hands, “it is to-day, then, that I recommence my life.  You will see—­you will see!  You have saved me!”

It was a strange sight, the time-worn, disfigured courtesan, half prostrate before the beautiful young creature proud and unassailable in the instinctive force of her own character.  It was almost a didactic tableau, fraught with lessons for the vicious.  Sophia was happier than she had been for years.  She had a purpose in existence; she had a fluid soul to mould to her will according to her wisdom; and there was a large compassion to her credit.  Public opinion could not intimidate her, for in her case there was no public opinion; she knew nobody; nobody had the right to question her doings.

The next day, Sunday, they both worked hard at the bedrooms from early morning.  The grocer was installed in his chamber, and the two other rooms were cleansed as they had never been cleansed.  At four o’clock, the weather being more magnificent than ever, Madame Foucault said: 

“If we took a promenade on the boulevard?”

Sophia reflected.  They were partners.  “Very well,” she agreed.

The boulevard was crammed with gay, laughing crowds.  All the cafes were full.  None, who did not know, could have guessed that the news of Sedan was scarcely a day old in the capital.  Delirious joy reigned in the glittering sunshine.  As the two women strolled along, content with their industry and their resolves, they came to a National Guard, who, perched on a ladder, was chipping away the “N” from the official sign of a court-tradesman.  He was exchanging jokes with a circle of open mouths.  It was in this way that Madame Foucault and Sophia learnt of the establishment of a republic.

“Vive la republique!” cried Madame Foucault, incontinently, and then apologized to Sophia for the lapse.

They listened a long while to a man who was telling strange histories of the Empress.

Suddenly Sophia noticed that Madame Foucault was no longer at her elbow.  She glanced about, and saw her in earnest conversation with a young man whose face seemed familiar.  She remembered it was the young man with whom Madame Foucault had quarrelled on the night when Sophia found her prone in the corridor; the last remaining worshipper of the courtesan.