Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. None at all. So overjoyed was the carpenter with the successful issue of his undertaking, that he scarcely paused a moment to recruit himself; but, securing the child, set out upon his return. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. One day it was gone.
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