Poor Angel! She got tired of cooking and scouring the coppers in Madame Anger's little kitchen, so she ran away with a soldier, and then with another soldier.

Too bad! She still lives about the Quarter, and, though there is always a soldat, she has become a blanchisseuse de fin.

She did my blouses beautifully the last time I was there, and was so delighted to see me again.

I gave her all my old clothes, even my old hats, though she always wears her Breton headdress.

Her hair is still like flax, and her blue eyes are just like a baby's, and she has the same three freckles on her little nose, and talks about going back to her bains de mer." Bartley looked at Hilda across the yellow light of the candles and broke into a low, happy laugh.