Who knows?—­the knock might have been from ’Sieur Frowenfel’—­ha, ha!  He might be just silly enough to call so early; or it might have been from that polisson of a Grandissime,—­which one didn’t matter, they were all detestable,—­coming to collect the rent.  That was her original fear; or, worse still, it might have been, had it been softer, the knock of some possible lady visitor.  She had no intention of admitting any feminine eyes to detect this carefully covered up indigence.  Besides, it was Monday.  There is no sense in trifling with bad luck.  The reception of Monday callers is a source of misfortune never known to fail, save in rare cases when good luck has already been secured by smearing the front walk or the banquette with Venetian red.

Before the daughter could dart up and disengage herself from her work her mother had pounced upon the paper.  She was standing and reading, her rich black lashes curtaining their downcast eyes, her infant waist and round, close-fitted, childish arms harmonizing prettily with her mock frown of infantile perplexity, and her long, limp robe heightening the grace of her posture, when the younger started from her seat with the air of determining not to be left at a disadvantage.

But what is that on the dark eyelash?  With a sudden additional energy the daughter dashes the sewing and chair to right and left, bounds up, and in a moment has Aurore weeping in her embrace and has snatched the note from her hand.

“Ah! maman!  Ah! ma chere mere!”

The mother forced a laugh.  She was not to be mothered by her daughter; so she made a dash at Clotilde’s uplifted hand to recover the note, which was unavailing.  Immediately there arose in colonial French the loveliest of contentions, the issue of which was that the pair sat down side by side, like two sisters over one love-letter, and undertook to decipher the paper.  It read as follows: 

     “NEW ORLEANS, 20 Feb’re, 1804.

“MADAME NANCANOU:  I muss oblige to ass you for rent of that house whare you living, it is at number 19 Bienville street whare I do not received thos rent from you not since tree mons and I demand you this is mabe thirteen time.  And I give to you notice of 19 das writen in Anglish as the new law requi.  That witch the law make necessare only for 15 das, and when you not pay me those rent in 19 das till the tense of Marh I will rekes you to move out.  That witch make me to be verry sorry.  I have the honor to remain, Madam,

     “Your humble servant,
     “H.  Grandissime.
     “per Z.F.”

There was a short French postscript on the opposite page signed only by M. Zenon Francois, explaining that he, who had allowed them in the past to address him as their landlord and by his name, was but the landlord’s agent; that the landlord was a far better-dressed man than he could afford to be; that the writing opposite was a notice for them to quit the premises they had rented (not leased), or pay up; that it gave the writer great pain to send it, although it was but the necessary legal form and he only an irresponsible drawer of an inadequate salary, with thirteen children to support; and that he implored them to tear off and burn up this postscript immediately they had read it.