relatives by one''s toil, one has not the right to sacrifice one''s self.
That is deserting one''s family. And those who have daughters! what are you thinking of?
You get yourselves killed, you are dead, that is well.
And tomorrow?
Young girls without bread--that is a terrible thing.
Man begs, woman sells. Ah! those charming and gracious beings, so gracious and so sweet, who have bonnets of flowers, who fill the house with purity, who sing and prattle, who are like a living perfume, who prove the existence of angels in heaven by the purity of virgins on earth, that Jeanne, that Lise, that Mimi, those adorable and honest creatures who are your blessings and your pride, ah! good God, they will suffer hunger! What do you want me to say to you?
There is a market for human flesh; and it is not with your shadowy hands, shuddering around them, that you will prevent them from entering it!
Think of the street, think of the pavement covered with passers-by, think of the shops past which women go and come with necks all bare, and through the mire. These women, too, were pure once.
Think of your sisters, those of you who have them.
Misery, prostitution, the police, Saint-Lazare-- that is what those beautiful, delicate girls, those fragile marvels of modesty, gentleness and loveliness, fresher than lilacs in the month of May, will come to.