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FOOTNOTES: 

[1] Or the Adventures of a Lost Family in the Wilderness.  By Captain Mayne Reid.  London:  Bogue. 1852.

THE VATTEVILLE RUBY.

The clock of the church of Besancon had struck nine, when a woman about fifty years of age, wrapped in a cotton shawl and carrying a small basket on her arm, knocked at the door of a house in the Rue St Vincent, which, however, at the period we refer to, bore the name of Rue de la Liberte.  The door opened.  ‘It is you, Dame Margaret,’ said the porter, with a very cross look.  ’It is high time for you.  All my lodgers have come home long since; you are always the last, and’——­

‘That is not my fault, I assure you, my dear M. 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.  I could not refuse her; but this time, I must own, I got well paid for being obliging, for after I had done, she said in her most good-natured way:  “Here, you shall take home with you some of this nice pie, and this bottle of good wine, and have a comfortable supper with your sister.”  So she always calls you, madame,’ added Margaret, while complacently glancing at the basket, the contents of which she now laid out upon the table.  ’As I believe it is safest for you, I do not undeceive her, though it is easily known she cannot have looked very close at us, or she might have seen that I could only be the servant of so noble-looking a lady’——­