Some of them she did not know of; the rest she took as a
matter of course. In truth, it mattered little to her whether
they lived in a big hotel or a little one; whether the debts
were paid or unpaid; whether money were forthcoming or not;
she never felt the want of it, we may be sure. If she did not
have some promised fete or amusement on one day, it was
certain to come on another; and even the one or two occasions
on which M. Linders, absolutely unable to leave an hotel until
he had paid part of what he owed there, had been obliged to
confiscate everything, caused her no uneasiness. The next
week, very likely, she had other trinkets and knick-knacks,
newer and prettier; and indeed, so long as she had her father,
she cared for little else. In any small childish misfortune or
ailment she had but to run to him to find help, and sympathy,
and caresses; and she had no grief or care in these first
years for which these were not a sufficient remedy.
Amidst all the miserable failures, and more unworthy successes
of a wasted life, M. Linders gained at least one legitimate
triumph, when he won his child's undying love and gratitude.
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