child the full
extent of my fears, lest her young mind should be unable to support the
blow!

"But I am ill,--very, very ill; a burning fever is in my veins; and 'tis
only with the greatest energy and resolution I contrive to resist its
approaches. But too certainly do I feel aware that the germs of a
possibly mortal disease are in me. I am aware of its gaining ground
hourly. My throat is parched, my head burns and throbs with racking
pains. These symptoms are even more dangerous than I am willing to own
even to myself. Merciful God! If I were to be ill,--seriously, fatally
ill,--if I should die! But no, no!" almost shrieked Madame Fermont, with
wild excitement; "I cannot,--I will not die! To leave Claire at sixteen
years of age, alone, and without resource, in the midst of Paris!
Impossible! Oh, no, I am not ill; I have mistaken the effects of sorrow,
cold, and want of rest, for the precursory symptoms of illness. Any
person similarly placed would have experienced the same. It is nothing,
nothing worth noticing. There must be no weakness on my part. 'Tis by
yielding to such dismal anticipations that one becomes really attacked
by the very malady we dread. And besides, I have not time to be ill. Oh,
no! On the contrary, I must immediately exert myself to find employment
for Claire and myself, since the wretch who gave us the prints to colour
has dared to--"

After a short silence, Madame de Fermont, leaving her last sentence
unfinished, indignantly added:

"Horrible idea! To ask the shame of my child in return for the work he
doles out to us, and to harshly withdraw it because I will not suffer my
poor Claire to go to his house unaccompanied, and work there during the
evening alone with him! Possibly I may succeed in obtaining work
elsewhere, either in plain or ornamental needlework. Yet it is so very
difficult when we are known to no one; and very recently I tried in
vain. Persons are afraid of entrusting their materials to those who live
in such wretched lodgings as ours. And yet I dare not venture upon
others more creditable; for what would become of us were the small sum
we possess once exhausted? What could we do? We should be utterly
penniless; as destitute as the veriest beggar that ever walked the
earth.

"And then to think I once was among the richest and wealthiest! Oh, let
me not think of what has been; such considerations serve but to increase
the already excited state of my brain. It will madden me to