"Oh, bother and nonsense! If you have no candle burning you must have the means of lighting one. Nobody is without a few lucifer matches, be they ever so poor. Do you or do you not choose to give me a light?" "I beg of you to go away." "You don't choose to open your door, then? Once,--twice,--mind, I will have it." "I request you to quit my door immediately, or I will call for assistance." "Once,--twice,--thrice,--you will not? Well, then, here goes! Now I'll smash your old timbers, into morsels too small for you to pick up. Hu!--hu!--hallo! Well done! Bravo!" And suiting the action to the word, the ruffian assailed the door so furiously that he quickly drove it in, the miserable lock with which it was furnished having speedily broken to pieces. The two women shrieked loudly; Madame de Fermont, in spite of her weakness, rushed forward to meet the ruffian at the moment when he was entering the room, and stopped him. "Sir, this is most shameful; you must not enter here," exclaimed the unhappy mother, keeping the door closed as well as she could. "I will call for help." And she shuddered at the sight of this man, with his hideous and drunken countenance. "What's all this? What's all this?" said he. "Oughtn't neighbours to be obliging? You ought to have opened; I shouldn't have broken anything." Then with the stupid obstinacy of intoxication, he added, reeling on his tottering legs: "I wanted to come in, and I will come in; and I won't go out until I've lighted my pipe." "I have neither fire nor matches. In heaven's name, sir, do go away." "That's not true. You tell me that I may not see the little girl who's in bed. Yesterday you stopped up all the holes in the door. She's a pretty chick, and I should like to see her. So mind, or I shall hurt you if you don't let me enter quietly. I tell you I will see the little girl in her bed, and I will light my pipe, or I'll smash everything before me, and you into the bargain." "Help, help, help!" exclaimed Madame de Fermont, who felt the door yielding before the broad shoulders of the Gros-Boiteux. Alarmed by her cries, the man retreated a step; and clenching his fist at Madame de Fermont, he said: "You shall pay me for this, mind. I will come back to-night and wring your tongue out, and then you can't squall out." And the Gros-Boiteux, as he was called at the Isle du Ravageur, went down the staircase, uttering horrible threats. Madame de Fermont, fearing that he might return, and seeing that the lock was broken, dragged the table across the room, in order to barricade it. Claire had been so alarmed, so agitated, at this horrible scene, that she had fallen on her bed almost senseless, and overcome by a nervous attack. Her mother, forgetting her own fears, ran to her, embraced her, gave her a little water to drink, and by her caresses and attentions revived her. When she saw her gradually recovering she said to her: