Sanselme forgot all his prudence and ran in the direction of the cries. He found a woman struggling with three drunken men, trying to tear from them a young girl about thirteen, simply dressed. The girl was struggling, but oddly enough she did not utter a sound.
"Don't put on these airs, Zelda," said one of the ruffians, "let the little girl have a fling too. You have had yours."
In her struggle the girl dropped a box she carried. Tulles and laces were scattered over the ground. She saw Sanselme, and then for the first time she screamed for help. Then with one blow Sanselme felled the man who held the girl. He fell stunned to the ground. The child was free, and the two remaining scoundrels turned their attention to the defender. They were stout, strong fellows, with well-developed muscles, but they were no match for Sanselme. He hurled one against the wall and the other into the middle of the street.
"Be off with you!" said Sanselme.
"Oh! thank you, sir. But my mother, my poor mother!"
The woman had sunk upon the snow exhausted. The girl endeavored to lift her.
"Let me," said Sanselme. "Do you live far from here?"
This question, though so simple, seemed to agitate the girl. Sanselme now held her mother in his arms.
"Well! Where am I to go?"