No one, not even
Castanier, knew her real name. She was one of those young girls, who
are driven by dire misery, by inability to earn a living, or by fear
of starvation, to have recourse to a trade which most of them loathe,
many regard with indifference, and some few follow in obedience to the
laws of their constitution. But on the brink of the gulf of
prostitution in Paris, the young girl of sixteen, beautiful and pure
as the Madonna, had met with Castanier. The old dragoon was too rough
and homely to make his way in society, and he was tired of tramping
the boulevard at night and of the kind of conquests made there by
gold. For some time past he had desired to bring a certain regularity
into an irregular life. He was struck by the beauty of the poor child
who had drifted by chance into his arms, and his determination to
rescue her from the life of the streets was half benevolent, half
selfish, as some of the thoughts of the best of men are apt to be.
Social conditions mingle elements of evil with the promptings of
natural goodness of heart, and the mixture of motives underlying a
man's intentions should be leniently judged. Castanier had just
cleverness enough to be very shrewd where his own interests were
concerned.
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