In every great city there always is much want and misery; here, although succour is supposed to be afforded to all who require it, many I fear are starving owing to that bureaucrat love of classification which is the curse of France.

After my meagre dinner, I was strolling along the quays near the river, _l'estomac_ as _leger_ as M.Ollivier's heart, when I saw a woman leaning over the parapet.

She turned as I was passing her, and the lamp from the opposite gate of the Tuileries shone on her face.

It was honest and homely, but so careworn, so utterly hopeless, that I stopped to ask her if she was ill.

"Only tired and hungry'" she replied; "I have been walking all day, and I have not eaten since yesterday." I took her to a cafe and gave her some bread and coffee, and then she told me her story.
She was a peasant girl from Franche Comte, and had come to Paris, where she had gone into service.