ing, "the weak, the unhappy, have
no right to complain. Who knows what this wicked woman will now do to
avenge herself?"

She found it out the second day afterwards.

Coming down a little before seven o'clock, in order to buy her roll and
her milk for breakfast, she met at the entrance-door Mrs. Hilaire, face
to face. At the sight of the poor girl, that irascible woman turned as
red as a poppy, and, rushing up to her, seized her by the arm, and shook
it furiously, crying out at the same time with the full force of her
lungs,--

"Ah, it is you, miserable beggar, who go and tell stories on me! Oh,
what wickedness! A beggar whom I had sent for to allow her to earn
thirty francs! And I must needs think she is sick, and pity her, and ask
Julius to give her a twenty-franc-piece."

Henrietta felt that she ought not to blame this woman, who, after all,
had shown her nothing but kindness. But she was thoroughly frightened,
and tried to get away. The woman, however, held her fast, and cried
still louder, till several tenants came to the open windows.

"They'll make you pay for that, my darling," she yelled, amid foul
oaths, which her wrath carried along with it, as a torrent floats down
stones and debris. "They'll make you pay for it! You'll have to clear
out of here, I tell you!"

And the threat was not an idle one. That very afternoon the same
lamentable scene was repeated; and so it went on every morning and every
day. Mrs. Hilaire had friends in the house, who took up the quarrel, and
fell upon Henrietta whenever she appeared. They lay in wait for her by
turns; and she no sooner ventured upon the staircase than the shouts
began; so that the unfortunate girl no longer dared leave the house.
Early in the morning, as soon as the door was opened, she ran out to buy
her daily provisions; then, running up swiftly, she barricaded herself
in her chamber, and never stirred out again.

Surely, there was no lack of desire on her part to leave the house. But
where should she go? Besides, the unknown frightened her; might it not
have still greater terrors in reserve for her?

At last she was entirely without money.

In July her rent had cost her a hundred francs, and she had been
compelled to buy a dress in place of her merino dress, which was
falling to pieces. In the first days of August she was at the end of her
resources. Nor would she have been able to make them last so long, even
if she had not, ever since that evening at