BOOK ELEVENTH.
CHAPTER 1. THE LITTLE SHOE.
(continued)
In the meantime, the recluse had not uttered another word
since Tristan had seen her daughter and all hope was lost.
She had flung the poor gypsy, half dead, into the corner of
the cellar, and had placed herself once more at the window
with both hands resting on the angle of the sill like two
claws. In this attitude she was seen to cast upon all those
soldiers her glance which had become wild and frantic once
more. At the moment when Rennet Cousin approached her
cell, she showed him so savage a face that he shrank back.
"Monseigneur," he said, returning to the provost, "which
am I to take?"
"The young one."
"So much the better, for the old one seemeth difficult."
"Poor little dancer with the goat!" said the old sergeant
of the watch.
Rennet Cousin approached the window again. The mother's
eyes made his own droop. He said with a good deal of timidity,--
"Madam"--
She interrupted him in a very low but furious voice,--
"What do you ask?"
"It is not you," he said, "it is the other."
"What other?"
"The young one."
She began to shake her head, crying,--
"There is no one! there is no one! there is no one!"
"Yes, there is!" retorted the hangman, "and you know it
well. Let me take the young one. I have no wish to harm you."
She said, with a strange sneer,--
"Ah! so you have no wish to harm me!"
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