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"None of your arguments! the ground is damp," said La Louve, and taking the small feet of Fleur-de-Marie in her hands, she placed them on the shawl. "How you spoil me, La Louve!" "Hum! do you not deserve it; always contending against that which I wish to do for your good. Are you not fatigued? here is a good half-hour that we have been walking. Noon has just struck at Asnieres."
Again, is it yes or no owing to you that La Louve, that ungovernable woman, has felt repentance, and desired an honest and laborious life?
There is not a single boat left on the whole shore from this to the docks." "Zounds!" cried La Louve, stamping and clinching her fists; "it happens so expressly for me!" "It's true, on my word. I am very sorry I cannot convey you to the island, for, without doubt, he must be worse." "Worse! Who?" "Martial." "Martial?" cried La Louve, seizing Ferot by the collar; "is Martial sick?"
"Oh!" cried La Louve; "what you do is often as touching as what you say! You are so malignant!" "Do not be angry, La Louve! explain yourself." "Yesterday, in the workshop, I saw you plainly. You had your eyes down, fixed on your work; a tear fell on your hand; you looked at it for a moment, and then you carried your hand to your lips, as if to kiss away this tear; is it not true?"
"My husband!" answered La Louve, looking at Martial with an expression of happiness and noble pride impossible to describe. "You have a good intrepid wife, sir," said the count to him. "I saw her save this unfortunate child with rare courage."
Perceiving their hesitation, and remembering what Fleur-de-Marie had told him about the slightly uncivilized tastes of La Louve and her husband, he offered them either a considerable amount of money, or the half of this amount, and lands in the vicinity of the farm which he had bought for the Slasher.
Interrupting herself, she pushed up the sleeve of her dress and showed to La Goualeuse her strong white arm, pointing out to her, pricked in with indelible ink, a poniard half plunged in a red heart; over this emblem were these words: "Death to Dastards! MARTIAL. For life!" "Do you see that?" cried La Louve. "Yes; it makes me afraid," said La Goualeuse, turning away her head.
"Listen to me, La Louve," added Marie, in a voice full of compassion; "do not think me so cruel as to awaken in you these thoughts, these hopes, if I were not sure, in making you ashamed of your present condition, to give you the means to escape from it." "You cannot do that!" "I no; but some one who is good, great, almost all-powerful." "All-powerful?" "Listen again, La Louve.
We are often obliged to put her in confinement to subdue her turbulence. Only the day before yesterday she came out of the cell, very much irritated at the punishment she had just received. It was meal-time: the poor girl of whom I have spoken did not eat; she said sadly to her companions, 'Who wants my bread? 'I, said La Louve, first.
"No; at your home, when you are free." "Yes, I am happy." "Always?" "Always." "You would not change your lot for any other?" "For what other? There's no other lot for me." "Tell me, La Louve," continued Fleur-de-Marie, after a moment's silence, "do you not sometimes like to build castles in the air here in prison? It is so amusing." "Castles in the air?" "About Martial." "Martial?" "Yes."
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