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Updated: June 5, 2025
"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?"
"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.
They must be for Amandine, the mistress of the Marquis de Saint-Herem, my most intimate friend I recommended the establishment a veritable fortune for Madame Jourdan, although that devil of a marquis seldom pays. But, on the other hand, all the furnishers and women he patronizes become the rage.
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!"
Amandine, without being perceived, nudged her brother to urge him tacitly to obey Calabash. Francois did not stir. The eldest sister looked at her mother, as if to demand the punishment of the offender. The widow understood her, and pointed with her long, bony finger to a long willow switch, which stood in the corner.
Once in the kitchen, she was struck by the cries of the children, who shut up in the cellar and hearing an extraordinary noise, called for help. The widow, believing no one would come to the island or house during her absence, had contented herself with locking Francois and Amandine in the cellar, leaving the key in the lock.
Little Amandine, kneeling in the middle of the kitchen, wept, and asked pardon for her brother Francois. He, irritated and threatening, stood in one of the corners of the room, brandishing a hatchet. He seemed this time to make a desperate resistance to the wishes of his mother.
She could not believe in so much happiness. "I shall not leave you?" "No, my brave Louve, never. You shall aid me to bring up these children. I know you. On saying to you, I wish that my poor little Amandine should be a virtuous girl, I know what you will be for her; a good mother." "Oh! thank you, Martial, thank you!"
Steepleton and Miss Maypole hopped together like a pair of lively young ostriches, and Ned Amandine, the village beau, blew arrows through a pop-gun, like a modern Cupid in pegtops instead of pinions.
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?"
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