“What does this mean?”
She seemed confused and worried, and said in a broken voice:
“What do you want me to do? I do not earn enough to put him to school!
I have to keep him with me, and I cannot afford to pay for another room,
by heavens! He sleeps with me when I am alone. If any one comes for one
hour or two he can stay in the wardrobe; he keeps quiet, he understands
it. But when people stay all night, as you have done, it tires the poor
child to sleep on a chair.
“It is not his fault. I should like to see you sleep all night on a
chair--you would have something to say.”
She was getting angry and excited and was talking loud.
The child was still crying. A poor delicate timid little fellow, a
veritable child of the wardrobe, of the cold, dark closet, a child who
from time to time was allowed to get a little warmth in the bed if it
chanced to be unoccupied.