After a few moments' silence, the widow said to her daughter, "Go and get some wood; we will arrange the woodhouse to-night, on the return of Nicholas and Martial."

"Martial! Will you also tell him that?"

"Some wood," repeated the widow, interrupting her daughter.

She, accustomed to this iron will, lighted a lantern and went out. At the moment she opened the door it could be seen that the night was very dark, and one could hear the whistling of the wind through the poplars, the clanging of the chains which held the boats, and the wash of the river. These noises were profoundly sad.

During the preceding scene, Amandine, painfully affected at the fate of Francois, whom she loved tenderly, had dared neither to raise her eyes nor wipe her tears, which fell drop by drop obscuring her sight. In her haste to finish the work which was given her, she had wounded her hand with the scissors; the blood flowed freely, but the poor child thought less of the pain than the punishment which she might expect for having stained the linen with her blood. Happily, the widow, absorbed in profound thought, perceived nothing. Calabash returned bringing a basket filled with wood. At a look from her mother, she answered by a nod, intended to say that the dead man's foot did appear above the earth.

The widow bit her lip and continued to work, but she appeared to handle the needle more quickly. Calabash replenished the fire, and resumed her seat alongside of her mother.

"Nicholas does not come," said she. "I hope the old woman who was here this morning, in giving him a rendezvous with Bradamanti, has not got him into some bad scrape. She had such a queer air; she would not explain or tell her name, or where she came from." The widow shrugged her shoulders.

"You think there is no danger for Nicholas, mother? After all, perhaps, you are right. The old woman said he must be on the Quai de Billy at seven in the evening, opposite the dock, where he would find a man who wished to speak to him, and who would say 'Bradamanti' for password. Really, that does not seem so very dangerous. If Nicholas is late, it is, perhaps, because he has found something on the way, as he did yesterday—this linen, boned from a washing-boat;" and she showed one of the pieces of linen which Amandine was unmarking; then, speaking to the child, she said, "What does boning mean?"

"This means to take," answered the child, without raising her eyes.

"It means to steal, little fool; do you hear, to steal?"

"Yes, sister."

"And when one knows how to bone like Nicholas there is always something to gain. The linen he picked up yesterday has only cost us the trouble of picking out the marks—eh, mother?" said Calabash, with a burst of laughter which displayed her decayed teeth, as yellow as her skin. The widow did not laugh.

"Apropos of getting things gratis," continued Calabash, "we can, perhaps, furnish ourselves from another shop. You know that an old man, two or three days since, came to live in the country-house of M. Griffion, the physician of the Paris Hospital—the lonely house a few steps from the river, opposite the plaster quarry?" The widow bowed her head.

"Nicholas said yesterday that now there was, perhaps, a good job to be done there. And I know, since this morning, that there is some booty there for certain. I must send Amandine to wander around the house; they will pay no attention to her; she will pretend to be playing, will look well about her, and then come and let us know what she has seen. Do you hear what I say?"

"Yes, sister, I will go," answered the trembling child.

"You always say 'I will' but you never do it, you sly puss. The time I told you to take the five francs from the counter of the grocer at Asnieres, while I kept him busy at the other end of his shop—it was very easy; no one suspects a child—why didn't you obey?"

"Sister, my heart failed me: I did not dare."

"The other day you dared to steal a handkerchief from the peddler's pack while he was selling at the tavern. Did he find it out, fool?"

"Sister, you forced me—it was for you; and, besides, it was not money."

"What of that?"

"To take a handkerchief is not so bad as to take money."

"On my word! Martial teaches you these whims doesn't he?" said Calabash, in an ironical manner. "You'll go and tell him everything, little spy! Do you think we are afraid that he'll eat us?" Then, addressing the widow, Calabash added, "Mother, this will end badly for him; he wants to lay down the law here. Nicholas is furious against him; so am I. He sets Amandine and Francois against us, against you. Can it be borne?"

"No!" said the mother, in a short, harsh voice.

"It is especially since his Louve was Saint-Lazared that he has gone on like a madman. Is it our fault that she is in prison? When she is once out of prison, let her come here, and I will serve her out—good measure—though she is strong."

The widow, after a moment's pause, said to her daughter, "You think there is something to be done with the old man who lives in the doctor's house?"

"Yes, mother."

"He looks like a beggar."

"That doesn't prevent his being a noble."

"A noble?"

"Yes; or that he should have gold in his purse, although he goes to Paris on foot every day, and returns in the same manner, with his heavy stick for his carriage."

"How do you know that he has gold?"

"The other day I was at the post-office, to see if there were any letters from Toulon."

At these words, which brought to her mind her son at the galleys, the widow knit her brows and suppressed a sigh.

Calabash continued: "I awaited my turn, when the old man we speak of came in. I twigged him at once by his beard, as white as his hair, and his black eyebrows. In spite of his hair, he must be a determined old man. He said, 'Have you any letters from Angers for the Count of Saint Remy?' 'Yes,' was the answer, 'here is one.' 'It is for me,' said he; 'here is my passport.' While the postmaster examined it, the old man drew out his purse to pay the postage. At one end I saw the gold glittering through the meshes, at least forty or fifty louis," cried Calabash, her eyes twinkling, "and yet he is dressed like a beggar. He is one of those old misers who are stuffed with gold. Come, mother, we know his name; it may serve us to get into the crib when Amandine finds out if he has any servants."

A violent barking of the dogs interrupted Calabash. "Oh, the dogs bark," said she; "they hear a boat. It is either Martial or Nicholas."

After a few moments the door opened, and Nicholas Martial made his appearance. His face was ignoble and ferocious; small, thin, pitiful, it could hardly be imagined that he followed so dangerous a calling; but an indomitable energy supplied the place of the physical strength which was wanting. Over his blue slop he wore a great-coat, without sleeves, made of goat-skin with long hair. On entering he threw on the ground a roll of copper which he had on his shoulder.

"Good-night, and good booty, mother," cried he, in a cracked voice; "there are three more rolls in my boat, a bundle of clothes, and a box filled with I don't know what, for I have not amused myself by opening it. Perhaps I am sold—we shall see."

"And what about the man at the Quai de Billy?" asked Calabash, while the widow looked at her son without saying a word.

He, for sole answer, put his hand in his pocket and jingled together a number of pieces of silver.

"You took all that from him?" cried Calabash.

"No, he shelled out himself two hundred francs, and he will come down with eight hundred more when I shall have—but enough; let us unload the boat; we can jaw afterward. Isn't Martial here?"

"No," said the sister.

"So much the better; we will lock up the booty without him; just as well he shouldn't know."

"You are afraid of him, coward!" said Calabash, crossly.

"Afraid of him? me!" He shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid he'll sell us, that's all. As to the fear, my sticker has too sharp a tongue."

"Oh, when he is not here, you brag; let him but come, that shuts your bill."

Nicholas appeared insensible to this reproach, and said, "Come, quick! quick! to the boat. Where is Francois, mother? He could help us."

"Mother has shut him upstairs, after having dressed him nicely; he goes to bed without supper," said Calabash.

"Good; but let him come and help us unload the boat all the same—eh, mother? Calabash, him, and me, in a twist, will have all housed."

The widow pointed upward. Calabash understood, and went to look for
Francois.

The gloomy visage of Mother Martial had become slightly relaxed since the arrival of Nicholas; she liked him better than Calabash, but not as well as she did her Toulon son, as she called him; for the maternal love of this ferocious creature increased in proportion to the criminality of her offspring. This perverse preference sufficiently explains the dislike of the widow to her youngest children, who displayed no bad tendencies, and her profound hatred for Martial, her eldest son, who, without leading a blameless life, might have passed for a very honest man if he had been compared to Nicholas, Calabash, or his brother, the galley—slave at Toulon.

[Illustration: THE PILLAGE ]

"Where have you been plundering to-night?" asked the widow.

"On returning from the Quai de Billy, I cast a sheep's-eye upon a barge fastened to the quay near the Invalides Bridge. It was dark; I said, no light in the cabin—the sailors are on shore—I'll go on board; if I meet any one, I'll ask for a piece of seizing to mend my oar. I went into the cabin—nobody; then I took what I could, some clothes, a large box, and, on the deck, four rolls of copper; for I returned twice. The barge was loaded with copper and iron. But here come Francois and Calabash. Quick, to the boat! Come, be moving—you, too, Amandine. You can carry the clothes. A dog learns to carry before he is taught hunting."

Left alone, the widow busied herself in preparing the supper for the family, placing on the table glasses, bottles, plates, and silver forks and spoons. Just as she finished her preparation, her children returned heavily laden. The weight of the two rolls, which he carried on his shoulders, seemed almost to crush Francois. Amandine was hardly visible under the bundle of clothes which she carried on her head. Nicholas and Calabash carried between them a deal box, on the top of which was placed the fourth roll of copper.

"The box, the box!" cried Calabash, with impatience. "Let us air the case!" The copper was thrown on the ground. Nicholas, armed with a hatchet, endeavored to get it under the cover, so as to force it up. The red flickering light from the earth illuminated this scene of pillage; without, the wind howled with renewed violence. Nicholas, kneeling before the box, tried to break it, and uttered the most horrible oaths on seeing his efforts useless. Her eyes glistening with cupidity, her cheeks flushing, Calabash kneeled on the box, and assisted Nicholas with all her strength. The widow, separated from the group by the table, where she stood at full length, also had her eager gaze fixed on the stolen object.

Finally, a thing, alas! too human, the two children, whose good natural instincts had so often triumphed over the cursed influence of this abominable domestic corruption, forgetting their scruples and their fears, gave way to the attractions of a fatal curiosity. Leaning against one another, their eyes sparkling, their breathing oppressed, Francois and Amandine were not less anxious to know the contents of the box than their brother or sister. At length the top was forced off.

"Ah!" cried the family, in a joyful tone. And all, from the mother to the little girl, crowded around the stolen case. Without doubt, consigned by some Paris merchant to some of his country customers, it contained a large quantity of articles for women's use.

"Nicholas is not sold!" cried Calabash, unrolling a piece of muslin de laine.

"No," answered the pirate, shaking out a package of foulards; "no, I have paid my expenses."

"Levantine! that will sell like bread," said the widow, putting her hand in the box. "The Bras-Rouge's fence, who lives in the Rue du Temple, will buy the stuffs, and Daddy Micou, who keeps furnished lodgings in the Quartier Saint Honore, will arrange for the copper."

"Amandine!" whispered Francois to his little sister; "what a pretty cravat this would make."

"Yes, and it would make a very fine scarf," answered the child, with admiration. "I must say you had some luck, getting on board the barge," said Calabash; "look here, famous shawls; three real silk! Do look, mother?"

"Burette will give at least five hundred francs for the whole," said the widow, after a close examination.

"Then it must be worth at least fifteen hundred francs," said Nicholas, "but a receiver is as bad as a thief! Bah! I do not know how to cheat. I shall be soft enough this time again to do just as Burette wishes, and Micou also; but he is a friend."

"Never mind; the seller of old iron is a robber, just like the rest, but these rascally receivers know one has need of them," said Calabash, trying on one of the shawls, "and they abuse it."

"There's nothing more," said Nicholas, reaching the bottom of the box.

"Now all must be repacked," said the widow.

"I'll keep this shawl," said Calabash.

"You'll keep it!" cried Nicholas, brutally, "if I give it to you. You are always taking—you—Miss Free-and-easy."

"Oh! you then refrain from taking?"

"I? I nail at the risk of my skin. It's not you who'd have been jugged if they'd caught me on the barge."

"Well, there's your shawl! I don't care about it," said Calabash, sharply throwing it back into the case.

"It is not on account of the shawl that I speak; I am not mean enough to value a shawl; for one, more or less, old Burette will not change her price; she buys in a lump," said Nicholas. "But instead of saying that you'd take the shawl you might ask if I would give it you. Come, keep it—keep it, I tell you; or if you won't, I'll pitch it into the fire to make the pot boil."

These words soothed Calabash's bad temper, and she took the shawl. Nicholas was, doubtless, in a generous mood; for, tearing off with his teeth two of the handsomest handkerchiefs, he threw them to Francois and Amandine.

"That's for you, my kids, to put you in the notion to go on the lay. Appetite comes with eating. Now go to bed; I want to talk with mother. Your supper shall be brought upstairs." The children clapped their hands, and waved triumphantly the stolen handkerchiefs which had just been given them.

"Well, you little blockheads!" said Calabash, "will you listen any more to Martial? Has he ever given you such handsome things?" Francois and Amandine looked at each other; then hung their heads without replying.

"Speak!" said Calabash, harshly; "has he ever made you presents?"

"Well, no; he never has," said Francois, looking at his red handkerchief with delight. Amandine said, in a very low tone, "Brother Martial does not make us presents, because he hasn't the means."

"If he would steal, he'd have them," said Nicholas; "eh, Francois?"

"Yes, brother," answered Francois. Then he added: "Oh, the beautiful silk! What a fine cravat for Sunday?"

"What a fine head-dress!" said Amandine.

"Not to say how wild the children of the lime-burner will be when they see you pass," said Calabash, looking at the children to see if they comprehended the bearing of the words. The abominable creature thus called vanity to her assistance to stifle the last scruples of conscience. "The beggars will burst with envy: while you, with your fine silk, will look like little gentry."

"That's true," answered Francois. "I am much more content with my fine cravat, since the little lime-burners will be so jealous; ain't you, Amandine?"

"I am content with my fine kerchief."

"You'll never be anything but a noodle!" said Calabash, disdainfully; and taking from the table a piece of bread and cheese, she gave it to the children and said, "Go upstairs to bed. Here is a lantern. Take care of the fire, and put out the light before you go to sleep."

"And," added Nicholas, "remember, if you say a word to Martial about the box, or the copper, or the clothes, you shall have a dance, so that you'll take fire; not to say taking away the silks."

After the departure of the children, Nicholas and his sister hid the stolen articles in a little cellar under the kitchen.

"Mother! some drink, and let it be choice," cried the robber. "I have well earned my day. Serve supper, Calabash; Martial shall gnaw our bones—good enough for him. Now let us talk of the customer, 'Quai de Billy,' for to-morrow or next day that must come off, if I wish to pocket the money he promised. I am going to tell you, mother; but some drink—thunder! let's have some drink. I'll stand some."

Nicholas rattled the money which he had in his pocket anew; then, throwing off his goatskin jacket and his black woolen cap, he seated himself at table before a ragout of mutton, a piece of cold veal, and salad.

When Calabash had brought some wine and brandy, the widow seated herself at the table, having Nicholas on her right and Calabash on her left; opposite were the unoccupied places of Martial and the two children. The thief drew from his pocket a long, broad knife, with a horn handle and sharp blade. Looking at this murderous weapon with a kind of ferocious satisfaction, he said to the widow, "My rib-tickler still cuts well! Pass me the bread, mother!"

"Speaking of knives," said Calabash, "Francois saw something in the woodhouse."

"What?" said Nicholas, not understanding her.

"He saw one of the trotters—"

"Of the man?" cried Nicholas.

"Yes," said the widow, putting a slice of meat on the plate of her son.

"That's queer, for the hole was very deep," said the brigand, "but since that time should have been heaped up."

"We must throw the lot into the river to-night," said the widow."

"It is more sure," answered Nicholas.

"We can tie a stone to it with a piece of old chain," added Calabash.

"Not so foolish!" said Nicholas, pouring out drink; "come, drink with us, mother; it will make you more lively."

The widow shook her head, drew back her glass, and said to her son,
"And the man at the Quai de Billy?"

"Well," said Nicholas, continuing to eat and drink. "On arriving at the wharf, I tied up my boat, and mounted on the wharf; seven o'clock struck at the military bakehouse of Chaillot; I could hardly see my hand before my face. I walked up and down for about fifteen minutes, when I heard some one walk softly behind me. I stopped; a man wrapped in a cloak approached, coughing; he halted. All that I know of his face is, that his cloak hid his nose, and his hat covered his eyes."

(This mysterious personage was Jacques Ferrand, who, wishing to make away with Fleur-de-Marie, had that morning dispatched Mrs. Seraphin to the Martials, whom he hoped to make his instruments in this new crime.)

"'Bradamanti,' said the tax-payer," continued Nicholas; "the password agreed upon with the old woman. 'Ravageur,' I replied. 'Is your name Martial?' said he to me. 'Rather!' 'A woman came to your island this morning; what did she say?' 'That you had something to say to me from M. Bradamanti.' 'Do you wish to gain some money?' 'Yes, much.' 'Have you a boat?' 'Four! it is our business; boatmen and ravageurs from father to son, at your service.' 'I'll tell you what is to be done—if you are not afraid—' 'Afraid—of what?' 'To see some one drowned by accident; only it is necessary to assist the accident. Do you comprehend?' 'Oh, you want to make some cove drink of the Seine by chance! that suits me; but, as it is rather a delicate draught, the seasoning will cost rather dear.' 'How much for two?' 'For two! will there be two persons to make soup of in the river?' 'Yes.' 'Five hundred francs a-head, and not dear.' 'Agreed for a thousand francs.' 'Pay in advance?' 'Two hundred in advance, the remainder afterward.' 'You are afraid to trust me?' 'No, you can pocket my two hundred francs without fulfilling our agreement.' 'And you, old friend, once the affair finished, when I ask you for the remainder, can answer me— go to the deuce!' 'You must run your chance; does this suit you, yes or no? Two hundred francs down, and the night after to-morrow, here, at nine o'clock, I will give you eight hundred francs.' 'And who shall tell you that I have made these two persons drink?' 'I shall know it: that's my affair! Is it a bargain?' 'It is.' 'Here's your money. Now listen to me; you will know the old woman again who came to see you this morning?' 'Yes.' 'To-morrow, or the day after at furthest, you will see her arrive, about four o'clock in the afternoon, on the shore opposite your island with a young girl; the old woman will make you a signal by waving her handkerchief.' 'Yes.' 'How long does it take to go from the shore to your island?' 'Twenty good minutes.' 'Your boats have flat bottoms.' 'Flat as your hand.' 'You must make a hole in the bottom of one of your boats, so as to be able, by opening it, to make it sink in a twinkling; do you comprehend?' 'Very well; you are the devil! I have an old boat that I was about to break up; it will just answer for this last voyage.' 'You set out, then, from your island with this boat; a good boat follows you, conducted by some one of your family. You land; you take the old woman and the young girl on board your boat, and you set off for the island; but, at a reasonable distance from the shore, you feign to stoop to fix something; you open the hole, and you jump lightly into the other boat, while the old woman and the young girl—' 'Drink out of the same cup—that's it.' 'But are you sure of not being disturbed should there be any guests at your tavern?' 'No fear, at this time, in winter, above all, no one comes; it is our dead season; and if any one should come, they would not be in the way; on the contrary—all tried friends.' 'Very well! Besides, you will not be at all compromised; the boat will sink through age, and the old woman with it. In fine, to be well assured that both of them are drowned (remember, by accident), you should, if they appear again, or if they cling to the boat, appear to do all in your power to assist them, and—' 'Aid them—to dive again! Good again.' 'It is better that the job take place after sunset, so that it be dark when they fall into the water.' 'No, for if one cannot see clear, how can they know whether the two women have drunk their fill, or want some more?' 'That is true; then the accident must happen before dark.' 'Very good; but does the old woman suspect anything?' 'No. On arriving she will whisper in your ear: We must drown the girl; a short time before you sink the boat, make me a sign, so that I can escape with you. You must answer in such a manner as to calm any suspicions.' 'So that she thinks to lead the girl to drink?' 'And she will drink with her.' 'It is wisely arranged.' 'Above all, let the old woman suspect nothing.' 'Be easy; she shall swallow it like honey.' 'Well, good luck! If I am pleased, perhaps I shall employ you again.' 'At your service.' Thereupon," said the brigand, ending his story, "I left the man in the cloak, got into my boat, and, passing by the barge, I picked up the booty you have seen."

It will be seen from this recital, that the notary wished, by a double crime, to get rid of Fleur-de-Marie and of Mrs. Seraphin at the same time, by making the latter fall into the snare she believed only laid for La Goualeuse. The reasons for putting the latter out of the way are known to the reader; and in sacrificing Mrs. Seraphin, he silenced one of his accomplices (Bradamanti was the other), who could at any time ruin him by ruining themselves, it is true; but Jacques Ferrand thought his secrets better guarded by the tomb than by personal interest. The widow and Calabash had attentively listened to Nicholas, who had only interrupted himself to drink to excess. For this reason he began to talk with singular warmth.

"That's not all; I have managed another affair with La Chouette and Barbillon, of the Rue aux Feves. It is a famous plant, knowingly got up, and if we don't fail, there'll be something to try, I tell you. It is in contemplation to rob a diamond broker, who has sometimes as much as fifty thousand francs' value in her box."

"Fifty thousand francs!" cried mother and daughter, their eyes sparkling with cupidity.

"Yes, that's all! Bras-Rouge is in the game. Yesterday he decoyed the broker by a letter which Barbillon and I took to her on the Boulevard Saint Denis. Brass-Rouge is a famous fellow! No one suspects him. To make her bite, he has already sold her a diamond for four hundred francs. She will not fail to come, at dusk, to his tavern in the Champs Elysees. We will be there concealed. Calabash may come also, to take care of my boat. If it is necessary to pack up the broker, dead or alive, this will be a nice carriage, and leave no traces behind. There's a plan for you! Rouge of a Bras-Rouge, what a college-bred scamp!"

"I am always suspicious of Bras-Rouge," said the widow. "After the affair of the Rue Montmartre, your brother Ambrose was sent to Toulon, and Bras-Rouge was released."

"Because there was no proof against him, he is so cunning! But betray others—never!"

The widow shook her head, as if she had been only half convinced of the probity of Bras-Rouge. "I prefer," said she, "the affair of the Quai de Billy—the women-drowning. But Martial will be in the way, as he always is."

"The devil's thunder will not rid us of him then?" cried Nicholas, half drunk, sticking his long knife with fury in the table.

"I told mother that we had had enough of him; that it could not last," said Calabash; "as long as he is here, we can make nothing out of the children."

"I tell you he is capable of denouncing us any day, the sneak," said Nicholas. "Do you see, mother; if you'd have agreed," added he, in a ferocious manner, looking at the widow, "all would have been settled."

"There are other means."

"This is the best."

"At present, no," answered the widow, with a tone so absolute that Nicholas was quiet, ruled by her influence. She added, "To-morrow morning he leaves the island forever."

"How?" said Calabash and Nicholas in a breath.

"He will soon come in; seek a quarrel—boldly—as you have never dared to do. Come to blows, if needs be. He is strong, but you will be two, and I will help you. Above all, no knives—no blood; let him be beaten, not wounded."

"And what then?" asked Nicholas.

"We'll have an explanation; we will tell him to leave the island to-morrow, otherwise we'll repeat this again to-morrow night; such continual quarrels will disgust him, I know; we have let him be too quiet."

"But he is stubborn as a mule; he'll remain on account of the children," said Calabash.

"He is dead beat, but an attack will not scare him," added Nicholas.

"Oh, yes," said the widow; "but every day, every day is too much; he will give up."

"And if he will not?"

"Then I have another plan to force him to leave tonight, or to-morrow morning at latest," answered the widow, with a strange smile.

"Truly, mother?"

"Yes; but I would rather frighten him by quarreling and fighting; if I do not then succeed, I'll try the other way."

"And if the other way don't answer, mother?" said Nicholas.

"There is still another, which always does," replied the widow.

Suddenly the door opened and Martial entered. It blew so hard outside that they had not heard the barking of the dogs announcing the arrival of the gallows widow's first-born.