"Alas! yes, I never dare tell my child my fears--not to grieve her; but I suffer; I have fever; I can hardly sustain myself; I feel within me the germs of a malady--dangerous, perhaps--my bosom is on fire; my heart throbs. Oh, if I should fall sick--if I should die! No, no! I will not--I cannot die--leave Claire--alone, abandoned in Paris--can it be possible? No! I am not sick, after all--what do I feel? A little heat, a heaviness about the head, caused, no doubt, from my uneasiness--from cold--oh, it is nothing serious! "Come, come, no more of such weakness. It is by cherishing such ideas, it is in listening thus, that one falls really sick. And I have the time, truly! Must I not occupy myself in finding some work for Claire and myself, since this man, who gave us engravings to color--" Then, after a pause, she added, with indignation, "Oh! this is abominable, to offer this work at the price of Claire's--to take from us this miserable means of existence, because I would not allow my child to go and work at his rooms! Perhaps we may find work elsewhere; but when one knows nobody, it is so difficult! When one is so miserably lodged they inspire no confidence; and yet, the small sum that remains once gone, what shall we do? what will become of us? "If the laws leave this crime unpunished, I will not--for, if fate pushes me to the end--if I do not find the means to emerge from the atrocious position in which this wretch has placed me and my child, I do not know what I shall do--I shall be capable of killing him--I-- this man--then they can do what they will with me. Yes--but my child? my child? "To leave her alone, abandoned--ah! no, I do not wish to die! for this, I cannot kill this man. What would become of her? She, at sixteen--she is young, and pure as an angel; but she is handsome--but misery, hunger, abandonment--what may they not cause? and then--and then--into what abyss may she not fall? "Oh! it is frightful--poverty! frightful enough for any one; but perhaps more so for those who have always lived in opulence. I cannot beg--I must absolutely see my child starve before I can beg! What a coward--yet--" Two or three violent knocks at the door made her tremble, and awoke her daughter with a start. "Mamma, what is that?" cried Claire, sitting up in bed; then, throwing her arms around her mother's neck, who, very much alarmed, pressed her child to her bosom, "Mamma, what is it?" repeated Claire. "I do not know, my child; but do not be afraid, it is nothing: some one knocked; it is, perhaps, the letter we expect." At this moment the worm-eaten door shook again, under repeated blows with the fist. "Who is there?" said Madame de Fermont in a trembling voice. A coarse, rough voice answered, "Are you deaf, neighbors?" "What do you want? I do not know you," said Madame de Fermont, trying to conceal the agitation of her voice. "I am Robin, your neighbor; give me some fire to light my pipe: come, make haste!"