"An admirable society, which takes in girl mothers and gives them a Christian education."
"But, Monsieur, I am not a girl mother."
"That makes no difference. There are also women just out of prison; there are repentant prostitutes =; there is a little of everything. I am going to enter your name."
He took from his pocket some carefully-folded newspapers, and handed them to me.
"Hide these; read them when you are alone. They are very curious."
And he chucked me under the chin, saying with a slight clack of his tongue:
"Ah! she is a queer little one,— yes, indeed, a very queer little one!"
When Monsieur had gone, I looked at the newspapers that he had left with me. They were the "Fin de Siècle," the "Rigolo," the "Petites Femmes de Paris." Dirty sheets, indeed!
Oh! the bourgeois! What an eternal farce! I have seen many of them, and of the most different kinds. They are all alike. For instance, I was once a domestic in the house of a republican deputy. He spent his time in railing at the priests. A blower, indeed! you should have seen him. He would not hear a word about religion, or the pope, or the good sisters. If people had listened to him, they would have overturned all the