I think I know the slums here now some places are like illustrations to Eugene Sue's books. One day I had to break the news of her only son's death to a poor old woman cook to a bache lor gentleman, and she sat rocking herself and saying only her daughter could comfort her. Well, the daughter was working in a laundry at the other side of Paris, but I found her and drove her to her mother and had the satisfaction of seeing that she had What she wanted.

The girl had no hat, an old black shawl on her head, and I don't believe she had ever ridden in a motor in her life.

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