''Ah！'she cried，'can these sorceresses have changed my little girl into this frightful beast？'They removed the misshapen lump as quickly as possible out of her sight；it would have driven her mad.It was a boy，the monstrous offspring of some Egyptian woman and the Foul Fiend，about four years old，and speaking a language like no human tongue，impossible to understand.La Chantefleurie had thrown herself upon the little shoe，all that remained to her of her heart's delight，and lay so long motionless，without a word or a breath，that we thought she was dead.But suddenly her whole body began to tremble，and she fell to covering her relic with frantic kisses，sobbing the while as if her heart would break.I do assure you，we were all weeping with her as she cried：'Oh，my little girl！my pretty little girl！where art thou？'It rent the very soul to hear her；I weep now when I think of it.Our children，look you，are the very marrow of our bones.—My poor little Eustache，thou too art so beautiful！—Could you but know how clever he is！It was but yesterday he said to me，'Mother，I want to be a soldier.'—Oh，my Eustache，what if I were to lose thee！—Well，of a sudden，La Chantefleurie sprang to her feet and ran through the streets of the town crying：'To the camp of the Egyptians！to the camp of the Egyptians！Sergeants，to burn the witches！'The Egyptians were gone—deep night had fallen，and they could not be pursued.Next day，two leagues from Reims，on a heath between Gueux and Tilloy，were found the remains of a great fire，some ribbons that had belonged to Paquette's child，some drops of blood，and goat's dung.The night just past had been that of Saturday.Impossible to doubt that the gipsies had kept their Sabbath on this heath，and had devoured the infant in company with Beelzebub，as is the custom among the Mahometans.When La Chantefleurie heard of these horrible things she shed no tear，her lips moved as if to speak，but no words came.On the morrow her hair was gray，and the day after that she had disappeared.'
'A terrible story indeed，'said Oudarde，'and one that would draw tears from a Burgundian！'
'I do not wonder now，'added Gervaise，'that the fear of the Egyptians should pursue you.'
'And you were the better advised，'said Oudarde，'in running away with your Eustache，seeing that these，too，are Egyptians from Poland.'
'No，'said Gervaise，'it is said they come from Spain and Catalonia.'
'Catalonia？Well，that may be，'answered Oudarde.'Polognia，Catalonia，Valonia—I always confound those three provinces.The sure thing is that they're Egyptians.'
'And as sure，'added Gervaise，'that they've teeth long enough to eat little children.And I would not be surprised if La Esmeralda did a little of that eating，for all she purses up her mouth so small.That white goat of hers knows too many cunning tricks that there should not be some devilry behind it.'
Mahiette pursued her way in silence，sunk in that kind of reverie which is in some sort a prolongation of any pitiful tale，and does not cease till it has spread its emotion，wave upon wave，to the innermost recesses of the heart.
'And was it never known what became of La Chantefleurie？'asked Gervaise.But Mahiette made no reply till Gervaise，repeating her question，and shaking her by the arm，seemed to awaken her from her musings.
'What became of Chantefleurie？'said she，mechanically repeating the words just fresh in her ear；then，with an effort，to recall her attention to their sense：'Ah，'she added quickly，'that was never known.'
After a pause she went on：'Some said they had seen her leave the town in the dusk by the Fléchembault gate；others，at the break of day by the old Basée gate.A poor man found her gold cross hung upon the stone cross in the field where the fair is held.It was that trinket that had ruined her in'61—a gift from the handsome Vicomte de Cormontreuil，her first lover.Paquette would never part with it，even in her greatest poverty—she clung to it as to her life.So，seeing this cross abandoned，we all thought she must be dead.Nevertheless，some people at the Cabaret des Vautes came forward and protested they had seen her pass by on the road to Paris，walking barefoot over the rough stones.But then she must have gone out by the Vesle gate，and that does not agree with the rest.Or rather，I incline to the belief that she did leave by the Vesle gate，but to go out of the world.'
'I do not understand，'said Gervaise.
'The Vesle，'replied Mahiette with a mournful sigh，'is the river.'
'Alas，poor Chantefleurie！'said Oudarde with a shudder，'drowned？'
'Drowned！'said Mahiette.'And who could have foretold to the good father Guybertaut，when he was passing down the stream under the Tinqueux bridge，singing in his boat，that one day his dear little Paquette should pass under that same bridge，but without either boat or song！'
'And the little shoe？'asked Gervaise.
'Vanished with the mother.'
'Poor little shoe！'sighed Oudarde；fat，tender-hearted creature，she would have been very well pleased to go on sighing in company with Mahiette；but Gervaise，of a more inquiring disposition，was not at an end of her questions.
'And the little monster？'she suddenly said to Mahiette.
'What monster？'
'The little gipsy monster left by the black witches in the place of Chantefleurie's little girl.What was done with it？I trust you had it drowned？'
'No，'answered Mahiette，'we did not.'
'Wha urned，then？I'faith，a better way for a witch's spawn！'
'Neither drowned nor burned，Gervaise.His Lordship the archbishop took pity on the child of Egypt，exorcised it，blessed it，carefully cast the devil out of its body，and then sent it to Paris to be exposed as a foundling on the wooden bed in front of Notre-Dame.'