"Don't be so prudish, Zilda," said one of the men. "You make as much noise as if we were going to hang the little one."
The speaker, as he said this, threw his arms around the slim waist of the young girl and tried to draw her to him. At this moment Anselmo appeared, and with a terrible blow he struck the fellow to the ground.
The young girl sobbed, and taking the hand of her rescuer she pressed a kiss upon it. Then turning to the old lady, who was leaning against the wall moaning, she cried, beside herself:
"Oh, mother, mother! What is the matter with you? My God, she is dying!"
This really seemed to be the case; the poor woman had become deathly pale, and sank to the ground.
"Let me help you," said Anselmo to the young girl. He bent down and took the unconscious woman in his arms. "Where do you live?"
As simple as the question was, the girl appeared to be embarrassed by it.
"Won't you tell me where you live?" said Anselmo, as the girl remained silent.
"We do not live far from here, in the Rue Franchefoin."