AS SHE WAS CROSSING the boulevard, a pair of horses dragging a coach raced by. The girl dashed out of their way. The slippers that had belonged to her mother—they were too loose, but they were all the girl had left of her—fell off. A carter’s donkey claimed one slipper for its supper. “Oh,” cried the match girl, “oh!”

The other slipper might keep one foot warm, she thought, but as she went to retrieve it, a boy about her age was picking it up. “This will make a fine cradle for my babies!” he said, and ran off into the darkness so quickly that he never heard her voice calling after him.