4. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. They give themselves airs, but so it is. Her desires were not for riches. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. They are not your children, they never were.
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