THE next morning, at the same hour as on the previous day, Monsieur Paindavoine entered the workshops, guided by the manager. Perrine wanted to go and meet him, but she could not at this moment as she was busy transmitting orders from the chief machinist to the men who were working for him—masons, carpenters, smiths, mechanics. Clearly and without repetition, she explained to each one what orders were given to him; then she interpreted for the chief machinist the questions or objections which the French workmen desired to address to him.

Perrine's grandfather had drawn near. The voices stopped as the tap of his cane announced his approach, but he made a sign for them to continue the same as though he were not there.

And while Perrine, obeying him, went on talking with the men, he said quietly to the manager, though not low enough but that Perrine heard:

"Do you know, that little girl would make a fine engineer!"

"Yes," said the manager; "it's astonishing how decided and confident she is with the men."

"Yes, and she can do something else. Yesterday she translated the 'Dundee News' more intelligently than Bendit. And it was the first time that she had read trade journal stuff."

"Does anyone know who her parents were?" asked the manager.

"Perhaps Talouel does; I do not," said Vulfran.

"She is in a very miserable and pitiful condition," said the manager.

"I gave her five francs for her food and lodging."

"I am speaking of her clothes. Her waist is worn to threads; I have never seen such a skirt on anybody but a beggar, and she certainly must have made the shoes she is wearing herself."

"And her face, what is she like, Benoist?"

"Very intelligent and very pretty."

"Hard looking or any signs of vice?"

"No; quite the contrary. She has a very frank, honest look. She has great eyes that look as though they could pierce a wall, and yet at the same time they have a soft, trusting look."

"Where in the world does she come from?"

"Not from these parts, that's a sure thing."

"She told me that her mother was English."

"And yet she does not look English. She seems to belong to quite another race, but she is very pretty; even with the old rags that she is wearing the girl seems to have a strange sort of beauty. She must have a strong character or some power, or why is it that these workmen pay such attention to such a poor little ragged thing?"

And as Benoist never missed a chance to flatter his employer, he added: "Undoubtedly without having even seen her you have guessed all that I have told you."

"Her accent struck me as being very cultured," replied Monsieur Vulfran.

Although Perrine had not heard all that the two men had said, she had caught a few words, which had thrown her into a state of great agitation. She tried to recover her self-control, for it would never do to listen to what was being said behind her when the machinists and workmen were talking to her at the same time. What would her employer think if in giving her explanations in French he saw that she had not been paying attention to her task.

However, everything was explained to them in a manner satisfactory to both sides. When she had finished, Monsieur Vulfran called to her: "Aurelie!"

This time she took care to reply quickly to the name which in the future was to be hers.

As on the previous day, he made her sit down beside him and gave her a paper to translate for him into French. This time it was not the "Dundee News," but the "Dundee Trade Report Association," which is an official bulletin published on the commerce of jute. So without having to search for any particular article, she read it to him from beginning to end. Then, when the reading was over, as before, he asked her to lead him through the grounds, but this time he began to question her about herself.

"You told me that you had lost your mother. How long ago was that?" he asked.

"Five weeks," she replied.

"In Paris?"

"Yes, in Paris."

"And your father?"

"Father died six months before mother," she said in a low voice.

As he held her hand in his he could feel it tremble, and he knew what anguish she felt as he evoked the memory of her dead parents, but he did not change the subject; he gently continued to question her.

"What did your parents do?"

"We sold things," she replied.

"In Paris? Round about Paris?"

"We traveled; we had a wagon and we were sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in another."

"And when your mother died you left Paris?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"Because mother made me promise not to stay in Paris after she had gone, but to go North where my father's people live."

"Then why did you come here?"

"When my mother died we had to sell our wagon and our donkey and the few things we had, and all this money was spent during her illness. When I left the cemetery after she was buried all the money I had was five francs thirty-five centimes, which was not enough for me to take the train. So I decided to make the journey on foot."

Monsieur Vulfran's fingers tightened over hers. She did not understand this movement.

"Oh, forgive me; I am boring you," she said. "I am telling you things perhaps that are of no interest."

"You are not boring me, Aurelie," said the blind man. "On the contrary, I am pleased to know, what an honest little girl you are. I like people who have courage, will, and determination, and who do not easily give up. If I like finding such qualities in men, how much more pleasure does it give me to find them in a girl of your age! So ... you started with five francs thirty-five centimes in your pocket?..."

"A knife, a piece of soap," continued little Perrine, "a thimble, two needles, some thread and a map of the roads, that was all."

"Could you understand the map?"

"Yes, I had to know, because we used to travel all over the country. That was the only thing that I kept of our belongings."

The blind man stopped his little guide.

"Isn't there a big tree here on the left?" he asked.

"Yes, with a seat all around it," she replied.

"Come along then; we'll be better sitting down."

When they were seated she went on with her story. She had no occasion to shorten it, for she saw that her employer was greatly interested.

"You never thought of begging?" he asked, when she came to the time when she had left the woods after being overtaken by the terrible storm.

"No, sir; never."

"But what did you count upon when you saw that you could not get any work?"

"I didn't count on anything. I thought that if I kept on as long as I had the strength I might find something. It was only when I was so hungry and so tired that I had to give up. If I had dropped one hour sooner all would have been over."

Then she told him how her donkey, licking her face, had brought her back to consciousness, and how the ragpicker had saved her from starvation. Then passing quickly over the days she had spent with La Rouquerie, she came to the day when she had made Rosalie's acquaintance.

"And Rosalie told me," she said, "that anyone who wants work can get it in your factories. I came and they employed me at once."

"When are you going on to your relations?"

Perrine was embarrassed. She did not expect this question.

"I am not going any further," she replied, after a moment's hesitation. "I don't know if they want me, for they were angry with father. I was going to try and be near them because I have no one else, but I don't know if I shall be welcomed. Now that I have found work, it seems to me that it would be better for me to stay here. What will become of me if they turn me away? I know I shall not starve here, and I am too afraid to go on the road again. I shall not let them know that I am here unless some piece of luck comes my way."

"Didn't your relatives ever try to find out about you?" asked M. Vulfran.

"No, never," replied Perrine.

"Well, then, perhaps you are right," he said. "Yet if you don't like to take a chance and go and see them, why don't you write them a letter? They may not be able to give you a home, so then you could stay here where you'd be sure of earning your living. On the other hand, they may be very glad to have you, and you would have love and protection, which you would not have here. You've learned already that life is very hard for a young girl of your age, and in your position ... and very sad."

"Yes, sir; I know it is very sad," said little Perrine, lifting her beautiful eyes to the sightless eyes of her grandfather. "Every day I think how sad it is, and I know if they would hold out their arms to welcome me I would run into them so quickly! But suppose they were just as cold and hard to me as they were with my father...."

"Had these relations any serious cause to be angry with your father? Did he do anything very bad?"

"I cannot think," said little Perrine, "that my father, who was always so good and kind, and who loved me and mother so much, could have ever been bad. He could not have done anything very wrong, and yet his people must have had, in their opinion, serious reasons for being angry with him, it seems to me."

"Yes, evidently," said the blind man. "But what they have against him they could not hold against you. The sins of the father should not fall upon the children."

"If that could be true!"

She said these words in a voice that trembled so with emotion that the blind man was surprised at the depths of this little girl's feelings.

"You see," he said, "how in the depths of your heart how much you want their love and affection."

"Yes, but how I dread being turned away," she replied.

"But why should you be?" he asked. "Have your grandparents any other children beside your father?"

"No."

"Why shouldn't they be glad that you should come and take the place of the son they have lost? You don't know what it is to be alone in the world."

"Yes, I do ... I know only too well what it is," replied Perrine.

"Youth who has a future ahead is not like old age, which has nothing before it but Death."

She looked at him. She did not take her eyes from his face, for he could not see her. What did his words mean? From the expression of his face little Perrine tried to read the inmost thoughts that stirred this old man's heart.

"Well," he said, after waiting a moment, "what do you think you will do?"

"I hesitate because I feel so bad about it," she said. "If I could only believe that they would be glad to have me and would not turn me away...."

"You know nothing of life, poor little girl," said the old gentleman. "Age should not be alone any more than youth."

"Do you think all old people feel like that?" asked Perrine.

"They may not think that it is so, but they feel it."

"You think so?" she said, trembling, her eyes still fixed on his face.

He did not reply directly, but speaking softly as though to himself, he said:

"Yes, yes; they feel it...."

Then getting up from his seat abruptly, as though to drive away thoughts that made him feel sad, he said in a tone of authority: "Come across to the offices. I wish to go there."