There was such a knocking at the street door, that the whole house shook in alarm; and old Bertha, the housekeeper, thought it was coming down about her ears. Hence she opened the door with greater speed than she had used for years, and she stood a ghost as there, upon the door step, she saw a soldier--and, moreover, a drunken soldier. She would have banged to the door again--but in so doing she must have crushed the intruder, for he was coolly leaning against the post. The old housekeeper came steaming back into the room, her arms wide open, and, so to speak--full of the subject--the soldier--the drunken soldier! “Tramp--tramp--tramp--tramp.” Two steps and a stagger on the part of the soldier. Dr. Bartolo heard the noise, and came in at a sharp trot at one door, as the drunken soldier came stumbling in at the other. “Here you--are you--are you--well ARE you he?” “He--he--what he?” “Doctor Berteldo--Balordo--whatever it is----?” “Go to the deuce, sir--_my_ name is Bartolo!” “Well--well--Dr. Barbaro--it _don’t_ matter--how are you, Dr. Barbaro? Let us embrace, doctor.” “Stand back, sir.” “I WILL embrace thee. Ah, how good that is! “The marshal of regiment I, A doctor, too, of full degrees-- billet on your house I hold Pray look at it--dear doctor--please.” As the doctor took the paper in a sightless rage, little Rosina came tripping in. “Methought I overheard just now, A most unusual clamor here, A soldier--and my guardian--too, There’s something much amiss I fear.” “I am Lindoro.” Thus the drunken soldier, in a soft, delicate voice, suited to--love-making. “Oh,” she cried, which caused the old guardian to start, and look up. At her he ran like a mad bull. “Go along--girl--go along!” “And, faith I, marshall, aye, and doctor too, will e’en go with her.” “Indeed you won’t.” “My quarters, sir, are here.” He reeled towards her, but his voice was far from thick, in fact, deliciously soft, as he whispered, “Dearest, dearest!” “Help,” she screamed, but her glance was quite kind, nevertheless. Meanwhile, the guardian was spluttering wildly--“Zounds, sir, stand off.” “Quick--quick--your handkerchief--let it fall,” he again softly whispered; and as the old doctor had his eyes on him, he drew forth his sword and made a dreadful lunge at Bertha, who, with a squeal, shot away with all the speed she could muster. As for the guardian--he thought he should burst with rage. But the next moment he had to scamper too, for the drunken wretch made a lunge at _him_. “Sir--sir--I’m exempt from billeting.” “Quick--quick--Rosina--take this letter;” and with a remarkably steady hand the soldier held her out a delicate little billet. But she saw the eyes upon her, so she could not take it. Still with his eyes on her, the old doctor thrust his hand into a desk, and brought forward a paper--an exemption from billeting.