"Well, madame, she's here; and as I told you before, if you would intrust
her with the matter now she would find a very good wet nurse for you in
the country, and bring her here whenever she's wanted."
La Couteau had been standing behind the door, which had remained ajar,
and scarcely had Celeste finished than, without waiting for an
invitation, she boldly entered the room. She was a quick little wizened
woman, with certain peasant ways, but considerably polished by her
frequent journeys to Paris. So far as her small keen eyes and pointed
nose went her long face was not unpleasant, but its expression of good
nature was marred by her hard mouth, her thin lips, suggestive of
artfulness and cupidity. Her gown of dark woollen stuff, her black cape,
black mittens, and black cap with yellow ribbons, gave her the appearance
of a respectable countrywoman going to mass in her Sunday best.
"Have you been a nurse?" Valentine inquired, as she scrutinized her.
"Yes, madame," replied La Couteau, "but that was ten years ago, when I
was only twenty. It seemed to me that I wasn't likely to make much money
by remaining a nurse, and so I preferred to set up as an agent to bring
others to Paris.
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