"My duty called me into your street, madam, and I found this poor creature surrounded by boisterous children, and striving to free herself from them. They tell me that this is her home; is she your daughter?"

A look of anger gleams in Mamma's eyes, but she suppresses her wrath and answers:

"No; she's not our daughter, but she's a fine trouble to us, just the same. Nance, let go the lady, and git out of the way."

With a whine of fear, the girl drops the arm of the Sister, and turns away. But her new-found friend restrains her, and with a hand resting upon her arm, again addresses Mamma:

"They tell me that this girl's mind has been destroyed by liquor, and that still you permit her to drink. This cannot be overlooked. She is not your child, you say; may I not take her to our hospital?"

These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise suddenly to his feet, and cause Mamma's true nature to a.s.sert itself.

Springing forward with a cry of rage, she seizes the arm of the girl, Nance, drags her from the Sister's side, and pushes her toward the nearest pallet with such violence that the reeling girl falls to the floor, where she lies trembling with fear and whimpering piteously.

"This comes of letting you wander around, eh?" hisses Mamma, with a fierce glance at the prostrate girl. Then turning to the Sister of Mercy, she cries: "That gal is _my_ charge, and I'm able to take care of her. Your hospital prayers wouldn't do her any good."

As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches her elbow.

"Hold your tongue, you old fool," he whispers sharply.

Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness:

"You see, lady, the poor girl is my wife's niece, and she was born with a drunkard's appet.i.te. We have to give her drink, but we couldn't hear of sending the poor child to a hospital; oh, no!"

Since the entrance of the Sister and Nance, Franz has apparently been engaged in steadying both his legs and his intellect. He now comes forward with a lurch, and inquires with tipsy gravity:

"Wot's the row? Anythin' as I kin help out?"

"Only a little word about our Nance, my boy," replies Mamma, who has mastered, outwardly, her fit of rage. "The charitable lady wants our Nance."

"The lady is very kind," chimes in Papa; "but we can't spare Nance, poor girl."

"Can't we?" queries Franz, aggressively, turning to look at the prostrate girl. "Now, why can't we spare her? I kin spare her; who's she, anyhow? Here you, Nance, git up."

"Now, Franzy,"--begins Mamma.

"S'h-h, my boy,"--whispers Papa, appealingly.

But he roughly repulses Mamma's extended hand.

"Let up, old woman," he says, coa.r.s.ely; and then, pushing her aside, he addresses the Sister:

"I say, what--er--ye want--er--her for, any'ow?"

The Sister turns away, and addresses herself once more to Mamma.

"I cannot understand why that girl may not have proper care," she says, sternly. "If her intellect has been shattered by the use of liquor, this is not the place for her," pointing her remark by a glance at Franz and the empty bottle. "Body and soul will both be sacrificed here. I shall not let this matter rest, and if I find that you have no legal authority--"

But again fury overmasters prudence. Mamma springs toward her with a yell of rage.

"Ah, you cat-o'-the-world," she cries, "go home with yer pious cant! The gal's--"

The words die away in a gurgle; the hand of Franz, roughly pressed against her mouth, has stopped her utterance.

"Oh, get out, old woman!" he exclaims, pushing her away and steadying himself after the effort. "Ye're gittin' too familiar, ye air."

Then seeing that the Sister, convinced of her inability to reason with the unreasonable, had turned to go, he cried out:

"Hold on, mum; if ye want that gal, ye kin have her. _I'm_ runnin'

this."

"I shall not forget that poor creature," says the Sister, still addressing Mamma and ignoring Franz; "and if I find that she is not--"

She leaves the sentence unfinished, for Mamma darts toward her with extended clutches, and is only restrained by Papa's stoutest efforts, aided by the hand of Franz, which once more comes forcibly in contact with the virago's mouth, just as it opens to pour forth fresh imprecations.

To linger is worse than folly, and the Sister, casting a pitying glance toward the girl, who is now slowly struggling up, turns away and goes sadly out from the horrible place.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

FRANZ FRANCOISE BELLIGERENT.

After the departure of the Sister of Mercy, an unnatural silence brooded over the room; a silence, not a stillness, for Mamma Francoise, uttering no word, dragged the unfortunate Nance to one of the pallets, forced the remainder of the warm liquor down her throat, and then pushed her back upon the pallet, where she lay a dirty, moveless, stupid heap of wretched humanity.

Then Mamma seated herself upon the one unoccupied stool, and glared alternately at the two men.

Papa Francoise was evidently both disturbed and alarmed at this visit from the Sister of Mercy, and he seemed intent upon solving some new problem propounded to him by the scene just ended.

Franz leered and lounged, with seeming indifference to all his surroundings. His recent potations were evidently taking effect, for after a few moments, during which he made very visible efforts to look alert, and interested in the discussion which, as he seemed vaguely to realize, was impending, he brought himself unsteadily to his feet, staggered across the room, and flinging himself upon the unoccupied pallet, muttered some incoherent words and subsided into stillness and slumber.

The eyes of the old woman followed his movements with anxious interest, and when he seemed at last lost to all ordinary sound, she arose and carried her stool across to where Papa, leaning against the table, still meditated.

"Sit down," she said, in low, peremptory tones, and pushing the stool lately vacated by Franz toward her spouse; "sit down. We're in a pretty mess, ain't we?"

Papa seated himself and favored her with a vacant stare.

"Eh!" he said, absently; "what's to be done?"

Mamma cast a quick look toward her rec.u.mbent Prodigal, and leaned forward until her lips touched the old man's ear.

"Mind this," she hissed; "_he_ ain't to know too much. He's got the devil in him; it won't do to put ourselves under his thumb."

"Don't you worry," retorted Papa, in the same sharp whisper, "I ain't anxious to be rode by the two of ye; Franzy's too much like his ma. It won't do to let him know everything."

Mamma gave a derisive sniff, a sort of acknowledgment of the compliment--one of the only kind ever paid her by her worser half,--and then said:

"Franzy'll be a big help to us, if we can keep him away from the cops.