"I have frequently thought of inquiring for some situation. What I seem to covet is just such a place as a female has here who is servant to a lady living on the first floor. Had I that situation I might probably receive wages sufficient to maintain Claire; and I might even, through the intervention of the mistress I served, be enabled to obtain occupation for my daughter, who then would remain here. Neither should I be obliged to quit her. Oh, what joy, could it be so arranged! But no, no, that would be happiness too great for me to expect; it would seem like a dream. And then, again, if I obtained the place, the poor woman now occupying it must be turned away. Possibly she is as poor and destitute as ourselves. Well, what if she be? No scruple has arisen to save us from being stripped of our all, and my child's preservation outweighs all fastidious notions of delicacy in my breast. The only difficulty consists in obtaining an introduction to the lady on the first floor, and contriving to dispossess the servant of a place which would be to me the very perfection of ease and comfort." Several loud and hasty knocks at the door startled Madame de Fermont, and made her daughter spring up with a sudden cry. "For heaven's sake, dear mother," asked poor Claire, trembling with fear, "what is the matter?" And then, without giving her agitated parent time to recover herself, the terrified girl threw her arms around her mother's neck, as if she sought for safety in that fond, maternal bosom, while Madame de Fermont, pressing her child almost convulsively to her breast, gazed with terror at the door. "Mamma, mamma," again moaned Claire, "what was that noise that awoke me? And why do you seem so much alarmed?" "I know not, my child, what it was. But calm yourself, there is nothing to fear; some one merely knocked at the door,--possibly to bring us a letter from the post-office." At this moment the worm-eaten door shook and rattled beneath the blows dealt against it by some powerful fist. "Who is there?" inquired Madame de Fermont, in a trembling tone. A harsh, coarse, and vulgar voice replied, "Holloa, there! What, are you so deaf there's no making you hear? Holloa, I say, open your door; and let's have a look at you. Hip, hip, holloa! Come, sharp's the word; I'm in a hurry." "I know you not," exclaimed Madame de Fermont, striving to command herself sufficiently to speak with a steady voice; "what is it you seek here?" "Not know me? Why, I'm your opposite neighbour and fellow lodger, Robin. I want a light for my pipe. Come, cut about. Whoop, holloa! Don't go to sleep again, or I must come in and wake you." "Merciful heavens!" whispered the mother to her daughter, "'tis that lame man, who is nearly always intoxicated." "Now, then, are you going to give me a light? Because, I tell you fairly, one I will have if I knock your rickety old door to pieces." "I have no light to give you."