miserable-looking houses in Paris.

"But what can be the cause of the cries which I hear in this house?" said
Madame de Fleury.

"'Tis only some child who is crying," replied Francois; and he would have
put up the step, but his lady was not satisfied.

"'Tis nothing in the world," continued he, with a look of appeal to the
coachman, "it _can_ be nothing, but some children who are locked up there
above. The mother, the workwoman my lady wants, is not at home: that's
certain."

"I must know the cause of these cries; I must see these children" said
Madame de Fleury, getting out of her carriage.

Francois held his arm for his lady as she got out.

"Bon!" cried he, with an air of vexation. "Si madame la vent absolument,
a la bonne heure!--Mais madame sera abimee. Madame verra que j'ai
raison. Madame ne montera jamais ce vilain escalier. D'ailleurs c'est
au cinquieme. Mais, madame, c'est impossible."

Notwithstanding the impossibility, Madame de Fleury proceeded; and
bidding her talkative footman wait in the entry, made her way up the
dark, dirty, broken staircase, the sound of the cries increasing every
instant, till, as she reached the fifth storey, she heard the shrieks of
one in violent pain. She hastened to the door of the room from which the
cries proceeded; the door was fastened, and the noise was so great that,
though she knocked as loud as she was able, she could not immediately