Francois and Amandine slept in a room situated immediately over the kitchen, at the extremity of a corridor, into which opened several other rooms, serving as private dining-rooms to the frequenters of the tavern. After having partaken of their frugal supper, instead of extinguishing their lantern, according to the orders of the widow, the two children had watched, leaving their door open, to see Martial when he should come to his room. Placed on a rickety stool, the lantern shed a sickly light through the miserable room. Walls of plaster, a cot for Francois, a child's bedstead, very old, and much too short for Amandine, a heap of broken chairs and benches, the result of some of the drunken brawls and turbulent conduct which had taken place at the tavern; such was the interior of this den.

Amandine, seated on the edge of the cot, tried to dress her head with the stolen gift of her brother Nicholas, Francois, kneeling, presented a fragment of looking-glass to his sister, who, with her head half-turned round, was occupied in tying the ends of the silk into a large rosette. Very attentive, and very much struck with this coiffure, Francois neglected for a moment to hold the glass in such a position that his sister could see. "Raise the glass higher now—I cannot see; there—so—good. Wait a little; now I have finished. Look! how do you think it looks?"

"Oh, very well—very well! What a fine tie! You'll make one just like it with my cravat, won't you?"

"Yes, directly; but let me walk a little. You go before—backward; hold the glass up so that I can see myself as I walk." Francois executed this difficult maneuver very well, to the great satisfaction of Amandine, who strutted up and down triumphantly, under the rosette and ears of her foulard. Very innocent under any other circumstances, this conduct become culpable, as Francois and Amandine both knew the prize was stolen; another proof of the frightful facility with which children, even well endowed, are corrupted almost without knowing it, when they are continually plunged in a criminal atmosphere.

And, besides, the sole mentor of these little unfortunates, their brother Martial, was not himself irreproachable, as we have said: incapable of committing a theft or murder, he did not the less lead an irregular and wandering life. They refused to commit certain bad actions, not from honesty, but to obey Martial, whom they tenderly loved, and to disobey their mother, whom they feared and hated. It is hard to say how much the perceptions of morality with these children were doubtful, vacillating, precarious; with Francois particularly, arrived at that dangerous period where the mind, hesitating, undecided between good and evil, perhaps in one moment may be lost or saved.

"How this red becomes you, sister!" said Francois. "How pretty it is! When we go and play on the shore in front of the plaster-kilns, you must dress yourself so, to make the children wild, who are always throwing stones at us and calling us little guillotines. I'll put on my fine red cravat, and we will tell them, 'Never mind, you haven't such handsome handkerchiefs as these.'"

"But I say, Francois," said Amandine, after a pause, "if they knew that they were stolen, they would call us little thieves."

"Who cares if they do?"

"When it is not true, it's all the same; but now—"

"Since Nicholas has given us these, we have not stolen them."

"Yes, but he did; he took them from a boat; and brother Martial says we must not steal."

"But since Nicholas has stolen them, it is none of our business."

"You think so, Francois?"

"Yes, I do."

"Yet it seems to me that I should have preferred that the person to whom they belonged should have given them to us. Don't you think so, Francois?"

"Oh, it's all the same to me. They have been given to us, and that's enough."

"You are very sure?"

"Why, yes, yes; do be quiet."

"Then, so much the better; we have not done what brother Martial forbids, and we have fine handkerchiefs."

"I say, Amandine, if he knew that the other day Calabash made you take that handkerchief from the peddler's pack, when his back was turned!"

"Oh, Francois, do not speak of that!" said the poor child, whose eyes were filled with tears: "brother Martial would love me no more. He would leave us all alone here."

"Don't be afraid, I will not tell him," he said, laughing.

"Oh, don't laugh at that. Francois; I am sorry enough; but I had to do it. Sister pinched me till the blood came, and then she looked at me so—so! and yet twice my heart failed me; I thought I could never do it. Finally, the peddler saw nothing, and sister kept the kerchief. If he had seen me, Francois, they would have put me in prison."

"They did not see you; it is just the same as if you had not stolen."

"You think so?"

"Of course!"

"And in prison, how unhappy one must be!"

"On the contrary."

"How, Francois, on the contrary?"

"Look here! you know the big lame man who lives at Paris with Pere
Micou; the man who sells for Nicholas; who keeps furnished lodgings,
Passage de la Brasserie?"

"A big lame man?"

"Why, yes; who came here at the end of the autumn from Pere Micou, with a man with monkeys, and two women."

"Oh, yes, yes; the lame man who spent so much money?"

"I think so; he paid for everybody."

"Do you recollect the excursion on the water?"

[Illustration: THE BRIGAND'S ATTACK ON HIS BROTHER]

"I went with them, and the man with the monkeys took his organ on board to have some music in the boat."

"And then, at night, what fine fireworks they had, Francois!"

"Yes; and he was no miser: he gave me ten sous! He drank nothing but sealed wine; they had chickens at all their meals; they had at least eighty francs' worth."

"As much as that, Francois?" "Oh, yes."

"He was very rich, then?"

"Not at all; what he spent was the money which he earned in prison, from whence he had just come."

"He gained all that money in prison?"

"Yes; he said he had seven hundred francs left; that when all was gone, he would do some good job, and if they took him, he didn't care, because he would return to the prison and join his good friends there."

"He wasn't afraid of the prison, then, Francois?".

"Just the contrary; he told Calabash that they were all jolly together; that he never had a better bed or better food than in prison: good meat four times a week, fire all winter, and a good sum when he came out, while there are so many stupid fools of honest workmen who were starving for want of work."

"Did the lame man say that?"

"I heard him; for I was rowing in the boat while he told this to Calabash and the two women, who said it was the same thing in the prison for women; they had just come out."

"But, then, Francois, it can't be so wicked to steal, if one is so well off in prison?"

"I don't know; here, there is no one but brother Martial who says it is wrong to steal, perhaps he is mistaken."

"Never mind, we must believe him, Francois; he loves us so much!"

"He loves us, it is true! when he is here no one dares to beat us. If he had been here to-night, mother wouldn't have whipped me. Old beast! ain't she wicked? Oh! I hate her—hate her. How I wish I was a man, to pay her back all the blows she has given me, and you, who can't bear it as well as I can."

"Oh! Francois, hush, you make me afraid, to hear you say that you would like to strike mother!" cried the poor little thing, weeping, and throwing her arms around the neck of her brother, whom she embraced tenderly.

"No, it is true," answered Francois, repulsing his sister gently; "why are mother and Calabash always so severe and cross to us?"

"I do not know," said Amandine, wiping her eyes; "it is, perhaps, because they guillotined father and sent Ambrose to the galleys."

"Is that our fault?"

"No; but—"

"If I am always to receive blows in the end, I would rather steal, as they wish me to; what good does it do me not to steal?"

"And what would Martial say?"

"Oh! except for him I should have said 'yes' long ago, for I am tired of being flogged; now to-night, mother never was so wicked—she was like a fury—it was very dark, dark; she said not a word, I only felt her cold hand, which held me by the neck, while with the other she beat me, and I thought I saw her eyes glisten."

"Poor Francois! because you said you saw a dead man's bones in the wood-house?"

"Yes, a foot which stuck out of the earth," said Francois, shuddering with affright: "I am sure of it."

"Perhaps formerly there was a burying-ground there?"

"Must think so; but, then, why did mother say she would whip me again if I spoke of it to Martial? I tell you what, it is likely some one has been killed in a dispute, and been buried there so it should not be known." "You are right! for, do you remember, such a thing once liked to have happened?"

"When was that?"

"You know the time that Barbillon struck the man with the knife—the tall man, who is so thin—so thin that he shows himself for money?"

"Ah! yes, the Living Skeleton, as they call him; mother came and separated them, otherwise Barbillon would, perhaps, have killed the great skeleton! Did you see how he foamed, and how his eyes stuck out of his head?"

"Oh! he is not afraid to stick a knife into one for nothing."

"He is a madcap!"

"Oh! yes, so young, and so wicked, Francois!"

"Tortillard is much younger; and he would be quite as bad, if he had the strength."

"Oh! yes, he is very bad. The other day he struck me because I would not play with him."

"He struck you? good—the next time he comes—"

"No, no, Francois, it was only in fun."

"You are sure?"

"Yes, very sure."

"Very well—or—but I do not know where he gets so much money from; when he came here with La Chouette, he showed us some gold pieces of twenty francs."

"How impudent he looked when he told us, 'You could have just the same, if you were not little duffers.'"

"Duffers?"

"Yes, that means stupid fools."

"Oh, yes! true."

"Forty francs—in gold—how many fine things I would buy with that!
And you, Amandine?"

"Oh! I likewise."

"And what would you buy?"

"Let me see," said the child, in a meditative manner; "in the first place I would get a warm coat for brother Martial, so that he should not be cold in his boat."

"But for yourself—for yourself?"

"I would like an infant Saviour, in wax, with his lamb and cross, like the image-man had on Sunday, you know, at the door of the church of Asnieres."

"I hope no one will tell mother Calabash that they saw us at church."

"True, she has so often forbidden us to enter one. It is a pity, for a church is very nice inside, is it not, Francois?"

"Yes, what fine candlesticks!"

"And the picture of the Holy Virgin! how good she looks!"

"And the lamps; and the fine cloth on the table at the end, where the priest said mass, with his two friends dressed like himself, who gave him water and wine."

"Say, Francois, do you recollect last year, the Fete-Dieu, when we saw from here all the little communicants, in their white veils, pass over the bridge?"

"What handsome flowers they had!"

"How they sung, and held the ribbons of their banners!"

"And how the silver fringes of the banners glistened in the sun! That must have cost a deal of money!"

"Goodness—how handsome it was, Francois!"

"I believe you, and the communicants with their badges of white satin on the arm, and wax candles with velvet and gold handles."

"The little boys had banners also, had they not, Francois?"

"Oh! was I not whipped that day because I asked mother why we did not walk in the procession, like other children!"

"Then it was that she told us never to enter a church, unless it was to steal the money-box for the poor, 'or from the pockets of people listening to mass,' added Calabash, laughing and showing her old, yellow teeth."

"Bad creature, she is!"

"Oh, before I would steal in a church, they should kill me! Don't you say so, Francois?"

"There, or elsewhere—what is the difference when one has decided?"

"I do not know, but I should have more fear; I never could."

"On account of the priests?"

"No, perhaps on account of the picture of the Holy Virgin, who looks so good and kind."

"What of that?—the picture can't eat you, little fool!"

"True; but I could not; it is not my fault."

"Speaking of priests, Amandine, do you remember the day when Nicholas struck me so hard, because he saw me bow to the cure who was passing on the shore? I had seen him saluted—I did the same; I did not think there was any harm."

"Yes; but that time Martial said just the same as Nicholas—that we had no need to make a salute to a priest."

At this moment Francois and Amandine heard some one walk in the corridor.

Martial reached his chamber without any further trouble, after his conversation with the widow, believing Nicholas locked up until the next morning. Seeing a ray of light issuing from the door of the children's room, he went in. They both ran to him and embraced him tenderly.

"Not yet gone to bed, little chatterers?"

"No, brother; we waited for you to come and say good-night," said
Amandine.

"And, besides, some one was talking very loud downstairs, as if it was a quarrel," added Francois.

"Yes," said Martial, "I had a dispute with Nicholas, but it is nothing. I am glad to find you up; I have some good news to tell you."

"Us, brother?"

"Would you like to go with me away from here—far away?"

"Oh yes, brother!"

"Well, in two or three days all three of us leave the island."

"How glad I am!" cried Amandine, clapping her hands.

"But where shall we go to?" asked Francois.

"You shall see, inquisitive; but never mind, wherever we go, you shall learn a good trade, which will make you able to earn your living, that is sure."

"Shall I not go any more fishing with you, brother?"

"No, my boy; you shall go as an apprentice to a cabinet-maker or a locksmith. You are strong and active; with courage, and by working hard, at the end of a year you will be able to earn something. Oh, come now, what is the matter? You do not appear to be pleased."

"Because, brother, I—"

"Well, go on."

"Would rather remain with you, fish, mend your nets, than learn a trade."

"Really?"

"To be shut up in a shop all day is so gloomy; and to be an apprentice is so tiresome." Martial shrugged his shoulders.

"You would rather be idle, a vagabond, a rover," said he severely, "before becoming a robber?"

"No, brother; but I would rather live here with you, as we live here— that's all."

"Yes, that's it—to eat, drink, sleep, and amuse yourself with fishing, like a lazybones."

"I like that better."

"It is very probable; but you must like something else. Look here, my poor Francois, it is high time that I take you from this place; without knowing it, you will become as bad as the others. Mother was right—I am afraid you are rather vicious. But you, Amandine, wish to learn a trade?"

"Oh, yes, brother; I would rather learn one than stay here. I shall be so glad to go away with you and Francois?"

"But what have you got on your head?" said Martial, remarking the triumphant head-dress of Amandine.

"A handkerchief which Nicholas gave me."

"He gave me one also," said Francois proudly.

"And where did they come from? It would surprise me if Nicholas should have bought them for you."

The children hung their heads, without replying. After a moment's pause, Francois said resolutely, "Nicholas gave them to us; we don't know where they came from, do we, Amandine?"

"No, no, brother," answered she, stammering and blushing, and not daring to raise her eyes."

"Do not tell a lie!" said Martial sweetly.

"We do not lie!" added Francois, boldly.

"Amandine, my child, tell the truth," said Martial, gently.

"Well, to tell the whole truth," answered Amandine, timidly, "they came from a box of goods which Nicholas brought to-night in his boat."

"Stolen?"

"I think so, brother, from a barge."

"You see, Francois, you told a lie!" said Martial. The boy held down his head, without answering.

"Give me the handkerchief, Amandine; give me yours, also, Francois."

The little girl took off her head-dress, took a last look at the enormous rosette, and gave it to Martial, stifling a sigh of regret. Francois drew his slowly from his pocket, and, like his sister, returned it to Martial.

"To-morrow morning," said he, "I will give these to Nicholas. You should not have taken them, my children; to profit by a theft is the same as to be the thief."

"It's a pity—they are so handsome!" said Francois.

"When you have learned a trade, and earn money, you can buy some quite as handsome. Come, go to bed; it is late, children."

"You are not angry, brother?" said Amandine timidly.

"No, no, my girl; it is not your fault. You live with rogues—you do as they do without knowing it. When you are with honest people, you will do as they do; and you soon shall be there—or deuce take me! Good-night!"

"Good-night, brother;" and, embracing them both, Martial departed.

"What is the matter, Francois? you look so sad!" said Amandine.

"Brother has taken my handkerchief; and, besides, did you not hear?"

"What?"

"He wants to make us apprentices."

"Are you not glad?"

"Faith, no!"

"You would rather remain here, and be beaten every day?"

"I am beaten; but I don't have to work. I am all day in the boat, or fishing or playing, or serving the company, who sometimes give me something for drink, as the lame man did; it is much more amusing than to be shut up from morning till night in a shop, to work like a dog."

"But did you not hear brother say, if we remained here any longer we would become bad?"

"All the same to me, since other children call us already little thieves. Work is too tiresome."

"But here they always beat us!"

"They beat us because we listen more to Martial than to them."

"He is so good to us."

"He is good, he is good, I do not deny; so I love him well. They do not dare to harm us before him. He takes us out to walk, it is truer but that is all; he never gives us anything."

"Brother, he has nothing; what he earns he gives to our mother for board."

"Nicholas has something. I am sure that if we were to listen to him and mother, he would not treat us so; he would give us fine things, like to-day; he would no longer suspect us; we should have money, like Tortillard."

"But we should have to steal, and that would cause brother Martial so much sorrow!"

"Can't help that!"

"Oh, Francois! Besides, if they caught us, we should go to prison."

"In prison, or shut up all day in a shop, is the same thing. Besides, the lame man said they amused them—selves so much in prison."

"But the sorrow we would cause to Martial—don't you think of that? It is on our account he came back here, and now remains; alone, he could easily get along: he could return and poach in the woods he likes so well."

"Well! let him take us in the woods with him," said Francois: "that would be best of all; I would be with him I love so much, and I should not have to work at a trade I cannot bear."

The conversation of Francois and Amandine was interrupted. Their door locked on the outside with a double turn.

"We are shut up!" cried Francois.

"Oh! what for, brother? What are they going to do with us?"

"Perhaps it is Martial."

"Listen, listen, his dog barks!" said Amandine.

"It sounds to me as if they were hammering something," said Francois; "perhaps they are trying to break open Martial's door!"

"Yes, yes, his dog barks all the time."

"Listen, Francois! now it sounds like driving nails. Oh, dear, I am afraid. What could brother have done? now hear how his dog howls!"

"Amandine, I hear nothing now," said Francois, approaching the door.

The two children, holding their breath, listened with anxiety.

"Now they return," said Francois, in a low tone, "I hear them walking in the corridor."

"Let us jump into bed; mother would kill us if she found us up," said
Amandine.

"No!" answered Francois, still listening: "they have just passed our door; they are running downstairs; now they open the kitchen door."

"You think so?"

"Yes, yes; I know the noise it makes."

"Martial's dog keeps on howling," said Amandine; then suddenly she cried, "Francois, brother calls us."

"Martial?"

"Yes, don't you hear him?" And, notwithstanding the thickness of the two closed doors, the stentorian voice of Martial, calling to the children, could be heard. "We cannot go to him—we are locked up," said Amandine: "they wish to do him some harm, for he calls to us."

"Oh, if I could," cried Francois, resolutely, "I would prevent them, if they were to cut me to pieces! But brother does not know that we are locked up; he will think that we will not help him."

"Call to him, Francois, that we are shut up."

He was about to follow the advice of his sister, when a violent blow shook the blind on the outside of the little window of their room.

"They are coming that way to kill us!" cried Amandine, and, in her fright, she threw herself on the bed, and covered her face with her hands.

Francois remained immovable, although he partook of the alarm of his sister. Yet, after the violent blow of which we have spoken, the blind was not opened; the most profound silence reigned throughout the house.

Martial had ceased to call the children.

Somewhat recovered and excited by deep curiosity, Francois ventured to half open the window, and tried to see without through the slats of the blinds.

"Take care, brother," whispered Amandine, who, hearing Francois open the window had partly raised herself up. "Do you see anything?"

"No; the night is too dark."

"Do you hear nothing?"

"No; the wind blows too hard."

"Come back, come back then!"

"Ah! now I see something."

"What?"

"The light of a lantern; it comes and goes."

"Who carries it?"

"I only see the light."

"Oh! now it comes nearer; some one speaks."

"Who is that?"

"Listen, listen! it is Calabash."

"What does she say?"

"She tells them to hold the foot of the ladder steady."

"Oh! do you see, it was in taking away the long ladder which was against our window that they made such a noise just now."

"I hear nothing more."

"What are they doing with the ladder now?"

"I can't see anything more."

"Do you hear nothing?"

"No."

"Oh, Francois, it is, perhaps, to get into brother Martial's room by the window that they have taken the ladder?"

"That may be."

"If you would open the shutter a little to see—"

"I dare not."

"Only a little."

"Oh! no, no. If mother should see it—"

"It is so dark there is no danger."

Francois, yielding to the entreaties of his sister, opened the blinds and looked out.

"Well, brother?" said Amandine, overcoming her fears, and approaching
Francois on tiptoe.

"By the light of the lantern," said he; "I see Calabash holding the foot of the ladder, placed against Martial's window."

"What then?"

"Nicholas goes up the ladder; he has his hatchet in his hands; I see it shine."

"Hullo, you are not gone to bed! you are spying us!" cried the widow suddenly, calling to Francois and his sister. Just as she was going into the kitchen she saw the light from the half-opened window. The unfortunate children had neglected to extinguish their light. "I am coming up," added the widow, in a terrible voice; "I am coining to you, little spies."

Such are the events which took place at the Ravageur's Island, the evening before Mrs. Seraphin was to conduct thither Fleur-de-Marie.