Having extricated herself from her brother’s arms almost as rapidly as she had fallen into them, she said, ‘Come along to the window, and see the rest of the fun.’ She caught Percenez in one hand and Gabrielle in the other, and drew them upstairs into the room in which she had been sitting before she descended to admit them. ‘Étienne, you know my daughter Madeleine, do you not?’ she asked abruptly; then turning towards the new comer, and from her to her own daughter, she introduced them: ‘Madeleine Chabry--Madame Percenez.’ ‘Pardon me,’ said the colporteur, laughing; ‘little Gabrielle is not my wife.’ ‘Ah! a sweetheart.’ ‘No, nor that either.’ ‘Well, never mind explanations,’ said Madame Deschwanden; ‘they are often awkward, and always unnecessary. Of one thing I can be certain, mademoiselle is charming, and she is heartily welcome,’ she curtsied towards the girl, and then vivaciously changed the subject. ‘The sport! we must not miss it. Oh! they have got into the factory, and into the house. Oh! the exquisite, the enchanting things that are being destroyed. Perfidious heavens! I know there are angelic wall-papers in that abandoned Réveillon’s shop--I have seen them with these eyes--and all going to ruin. Saints in Paradise! such papers with roses and jessamines and Brazilian humming-birds.’ Then, rushing to the door of the room, she called loudly, ‘Klaus! Klaus!’ ‘What do you want, mother?’ asked a young man, coming to the door. Percenez and Gabrielle turned to look at him. He was a slender youth of nineteen, with very light hair and large blue eyes. His face was somewhat broad, genial, and good-natured. He was without his coat, his shirt-sleeves were rolled up his muscular arms, and the collar was open at the throat, exposing his breast and a little black riband, to which was attached a medal resting on it. ‘What do I want!’ exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, starting from the window into the middle of the room. ‘How can you ask such a question, Klaus? Look at these walls. They are my answer.’ ‘My dear mother, what do you mean?’ ‘Klaus, you are little better than a fool. The people are sacking the factory, and there you stand. My faith! it is enough to make angels swear! And papers--wall-papers, to be had for nothing--for the mere taking. I saw one myself with roses and jessamine and humming-birds, and there was another--another for a large room. I saw it with these eyes--a paper to paper heaven! with a blue sky and an Indian forest of palms, and an elephant with a tower on its back, and a man holding a large red umbrella, and a tiger in the attitude of death, receiving a shot, and foaming with rage, and monkeys up a palm. Mon Dieu! you must get it me at once, or I shall expire. Klaus, I must and will have those papers.’ ‘You absurd little mother,’ said Klaus, stepping into the room and laughing; ‘do you think I am going to steal Réveillon’s goods for you, and get myself and you and father and Madeleine into trouble? Be content.’