"Oh, no, I had no money; I only came to look at them, and breathe their beautiful smell. During the half-hour which the ogress allowed me to pass on the quay on market-days, I was so happy that I forgot everything else."
"And on returning to the ogress, and those filthy streets?"
"Oh, why, then I returned more sad than when I set out; but I wiped my eyes, that I might not be beaten for crying. Yet, at the market, what made me envious--oh, so envious!--was to see neat, clean little workwomen, who were going away so gaily with a beautiful pot of flowers in their hands."
"I am sure that if you had had but a few flowers in your own window, they would have kept you company."
"What you say is quite true, M. Rodolph. Only imagine, one day, on her birthday, the ogress, knowing my taste, gave me a little rose-tree. If you only knew how happy it made me,--I was never tired of looking at it,--my own rose-tree! I counted its leaves, its flowers; but the air of the Cité is bad, and it began to wither in two days. Then--but you'll laugh at me, M. Rodolph."
"Well, then, I asked the ogress to let me go out, and take my rose-tree for a walk, as I would have taken a child out. Well, then, I carried it to the quay, thinking that to be with other flowers in the fresh and balmy air would do it good. I bathed its poor fading leaves in the clear waters of the fountain, and then to dry it I placed it for a full quarter of an hour in the sun. Dear little rose-tree! it never saw the sun in the Cité any more than I did, for in our street it never descends lower than the roof. At last I went back again, and I assure you, M. Rodolph, that, thanks to these walks, my rose-tree lived at least ten days longer than it would have done, had I not taken such pains with it."
"No doubt of it. But when it died, what a loss it must have been to you!"
"I cried heartily, for it grieved me very, very much; and you see, M. Rodolph,--for you know one loves flowers, although one hasn't any of one's own,--you see, I felt grateful to it, that dear rose-tree, for blooming so kindly for me, although I was so--"
Goualeuse bent her head, and blushed deeply.
"Unhappy child! With this feeling of your own position, you must often--"