Mathieu had already
heard of the latter's trouble from his wife, and he speedily grasped the
accountant's meaning. It vaguely seemed to him also that Morange was
yielding to the same unreasoning despair as Valerie, and was almost
willing that she should take the desperate course which she had hinted to
Marianne. But it was a very serious matter, and Mathieu did not wish to
be in any way mixed up in it. Having tried his best to pacify the
cashier, he sought forgetfulness of these painful incidents in his work.
That afternoon, however, a little girl, Cecile Moineaud, the old fitter's
youngest daughter, slipped into his office, with a message from her
mother, beseeching him to speak with her. He readily understood that the
woman wished to see him respecting Norine, and in his usual compassionate
way he consented to go. The interview took place in one of the adjacent
streets, down which the cold winter wind was blowing. La Moineaude was
there with Norine and another little girl of hers, Irma, a child eight
years of age. Both Norine and her mother wept abundantly while begging
Mathieu to help them. He alone knew the whole truth, and was in a
position to approach Beauchene on the subject.
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