Thiebaut,' said, the
old woman in a deprecatory tone. 'My day's work is only just finished,
and when work is to be done'----
'That's all very fine,' he muttered. 'It might do well enough if I
could even reckon on a Christmas-box at the end of the year; but as it
is, I may count myself well off, if I do but get paid for taking up
their letters.'
The old woman did not hear the last words, for with quick and firm
step she had been making her way up the six flights of stairs, steep
enough to make her head reel had she been ascending them for the first
time. 'Nine o'clock!--nine o'clock! How uneasy she must be!' and as
she spoke, she opened with her latch-key the door of a wretched
garret, in which dimly burned a rushlight, whose flickering flame
scarcely seemed to render visible the scanty furniture the room
contained.
'Is that you, my good Margaret?' said a feeble and broken voice from
the farther end of the little apartment.
'Yes, my dear lady; yes, it is I; and very sorry I am to have made you
uneasy. But Madame Lebriton, my worthy employer, is so active herself,
that she always finds the workwoman's day too short--though it is good
twelve hours--and just as I was going to fold up my work, she brought
me a job in a great hurry.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48