Sorry? But for why, Monsieur? It is not a thing to be sorry about. It is just the way of Paris... there has to be the poor and the rich... I am perhaps a bad girl, and now I am poor. It is just the way, Sir. There is nothing to be sorry about.

I do not know, truly. What can you tell me? Of how you... I do not know. I cannot think of what you might do. Do you have a bedroom? And a kitchen? Do you have a pet?

[She has very little conception of a 'real' family. What she truly wants to know is what it's like to be loved. But she doesn't know how to ask that - and it makes her fidget anyway, for fear she should be pitied, or scorned if people should know that.]