"Have
you come for the work, madam?" she asked, in English, spoken with a
strong foreign accent. "Pray forgive me; I have not finished it yet."
The second of the two workwomen suddenly looked up.
She, too, was wan and frail; but her eyes were bright; her movements
still preserved the elasticity of youth. Her likeness to the elder
woman proclaimed their relationship, even before she spoke. "Ah! it's my
fault!" she burst out passionately in French. "I was hungry and tired,
and I slept hours longer than I ought. My mother was too kind to wake me
and set me to work. I am a selfish wretch--and my mother is an angel!"
She dashed away the tears gathering in her eyes, and proudly, fiercely,
resumed her work.
Stella hastened to reassure them, the moment she could make herself
heard. "Indeed, I have nothing to do with the work," she said, speaking
in French, so that they might the more readily understand her. "I came
here, Madame Marillac--if you will not be offended with me, for plainly
owning it--to offer you some little help."
"Charity?" asked the daughter, looking up again sternly from her needle.
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