But kind hearts are more than pasteboard.
Ten months ago little Madame Plumet, then still unmarried, was in a terrible bother.

I remember our first meeting, on a March day, at the corner of the Rue du Quatre-Septembre and the Rue Richelieu.

I was walking along quickly, with a bundle of papers under my arm, on my way back to the office where I was head clerk.

Suddenly a dressmaker's errand-girl set down her great oilcloth-covered box in my way.

I nearly went head first over it, and was preparing to walk around it, when the little woman, red with haste and blushes, addressed me.