" Then, as three nurses came into the refectory, and
Monsieur Broquette could be heard scrubbing another's hands in the
kitchen, by way of teaching her how to cleanse herself of her native
dirt, Constance felt nausea arise within her, and made haste to follow
her companion away. Once in the street, instead of entering the cab which
was waiting, she paused pensively, haunted by La Couteau's final words.
"Did you hear?" she exclaimed. "That wretched lad may be in Paris."
"That is probable enough; they all end by stranding here."
Constance again hesitated, reflected, and finally made up her mind to say
in a somewhat tremulous voice: "And the mother, my friend; you know where
she lives, don't you? Did you not tell me that you had concerned yourself
about her?"
"Yes, I did."
"Then listen--and above all, don't be astonished; pity me, for I am
really suffering. An idea has just taken possession of me; it seems to me
that if the boy is in Paris, he may have found his mother. Perhaps he is
with her, or she may at least know where he lodges. Oh! don't tell me
that it is impossible. On the contrary, everything is possible."
Surprised and moved at seeing one who usually evinced so much calmness
now giving way to such fancies as these, Mathieu promised that he would
make inquiries.
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