Volume II Part 96 (2/2)

The widow looked at Nicholas in an impatient manner, as if to reproach him for not having executed her orders, and she again pointed to Francois.

Seeing his brother approach, the young boy brandished his hatchet in a desperate manner, and cried, ”If you want to shut me up there, whether it is brother, mother, or Calabash--I strike, and the hatchet cuts!”

Both Nicholas and the widow felt the necessity of preventing the two children from going to the a.s.sistance of Martial during their absence, and also to conceal from them what was about to take place on the river. But Nicholas, as cowardly as he was ferocious, and not caring to receive a blow from the dangerous hatchet with which his brother was armed, hesitated to approach him.

The widow, vexed at the hesitation of her eldest son, pushed him roughly by the shoulder toward Francois.

But Nicholas, again drawing back, cried, ”If he wounds me, what shall I do, mother? You know well enough I am about to need the use of both my arms, and I still feel the blow that Martial has given me.”

The widow shrugged her shoulders with contempt, and made a step toward Francois.

”Do not come near me, mother!” cried the enraged boy, ”or you shall be paid for all the blows you have given me and Amandine.”

”Brother, rather let yourself be locked up. Oh! do not strike our mother!” cried Amandine, terrified.

At this moment Nicholas saw on a chair a large woolen coverlet, which was used for the ironing-table; he seized it, and adroitly threw it over the head of Francois, who, in spite of all his efforts, finding himself entangled in its thick folds, could make no use of his arms.

Then Nicholas threw himself upon him, and, with the aid of his mother, carried him into the cellar. Amandine had remained kneeling in the middle of the kitchen. As soon as she saw the fate of her brother, she arose quickly, and, notwithstanding her alarm, went of her own accord to join him in his gloomy prison. The door was double-locked on the brother and sister.

”It is the fault of Martial, if these children are like unchained devils against us,” cried Nicholas.

”Nothing has been heard in his chamber since this morning,” said the widow, in a thoughtful manner, and she shuddered; ”nothing.”

”That proves, mother, that you did well to say to Ferot, the fisherman of Asnieres, that Martial was sick in bed, and like to die. In this way, when all is over, no one will be astonished.” After a moment's pause, as if she wished to escape a horrible thought, the widow said, roughly, ”Did La Chouette come here while I was at Asnieres?”

”Yes, mother.”

”Why did she not remain and go with us to Bras-Rouge? I am suspicious of her.”

”Bah! you suspect everybody, mother: to-day it is La Chouette; yesterday it was Bras-Rouge.”

”Bras-Rouge is at liberty; my son is at Toulon; they both committed the same robbery.”

”You always repeat that old story. Bras-Rouge escaped because he is as cunning as a steel trap, that's all. La Chouette did not remain here, because she had an appointment at two o'clock, near the Observatory, with the tall man in black, on whose account she carried off this girl from the country, with the a.s.sistance of the Maitre d'Ecole and Tortillard; and it was even Barbillon who drove the hack which this tall man in black hired for the occasion. Come, now, mother, why should La Chouette inform against us, since she tells us what jobs she has in hand, and we do not tell her ours? for she knows nothing of our proposed drowning sc.r.a.pe. Be tranquil, mother--dog don't eat dog. The day's work will be a good one. When I think that the broker has often twenty or thirty thousand francs' worth of diamonds in her bag, and that in two hours' time we shall have her in Red Arm's cellar. Thirty thousand francs in diamonds! only think of it.”

”And while we hold the broker, Bras-Rouge remains outside?” said the widow, with an air of suspicion.

”And where should he be? If any one should come in, must he not answer, and prevent them approaching the place where we are doing our job?”

”Nicholas, Nicholas!” cried Calabash, from without, ”here are the two women.”

”Quick, quick, mother! your shawl! I will row you over--it will be so much done,” said Nicholas.

The widow had replaced her morning-cap with one of black tulle. She wrapped herself in a large shawl of white and gray tartan, locked the kitchen door, placed the key behind one of the shutters, and followed her son to the landing-place.

Almost in spite of herself, before she left the island, she cast a long, lingering look at Martial's window, knit her brows, bit her lips, then, after a sudden fit of s.h.i.+vering, she murmured to herself, ”It is his fault--his own fault.”

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