One day as she tried one of Nana's old dresses on her, she almost choked with anger on seeing her back covered with bruises, the skin off her elbow, which was still bleeding, and all her innocent flesh martyred and sticking to her bones.

Well! Old Bazouge could get a box ready; she would not last long at that rate! But the child had begged the laundress not to say a word.

She would not have her father bothered on her account.

She took his part, affirming that he would not have been so wicked if it had not been for the drink.

He was mad, he did not know what he did.