Volume II Part 106 (1/2)

A cry, or rather a savage howl, came up from the depths of the cellar.

”Oh, there is my darling, who says 'good-day' to his mamma,” said La Chouette, ironically; and she descended a few steps to conceal her prize in some corner.

”I am hungry!” cried the Schoolmaster, in a voice trembling with rage; ”do you mean I am to die here like a mad beast?”

”You are hungry, poor puss!” said La Chouette, shouting with laughter.

”Well, suck your thumb!”

The noise of a chain shaken violently was heard; then a sigh of restrained rage.

”Take care! take care! you will hurt your leg, poor dear papa!” said Tortillard.

”The child is right; keep quiet, old pal,” said the old woman; ”the chain and rings are strong, old No-eyes; they come from old Micou, who only sells first rate articles. It is your own fault; for why did you allow yourself to be tied when you were asleep? Afterward there was nothing to be done, but to slip on the chain, and bring you down here, in this nice cool place, to preserve you, my sweet!”

”It's a shame--he'll grow mouldy,” said Tortillard.

The chains were heard rattling anew.

”Oh, oh! he jumps like a ladybird, tied by the paw,” cried the old woman. ”I think I can see him.”

”Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home! your house is on fire, and the Schoolmaster is burning!” chanted Tortillard.

This variation augmented the hilarity of La Chouette. Having placed her basket in a hole under one of the steps, she said, ”Look here, my man.”

”He does not see,” answered Tortillard.

”The boy is right. Ah, well! Do you hear? You should not have hindered me, when we returned from the farm, from was.h.i.+ng Pegriotte's face with vitriol. You should not have played the good dog, simpleton. And then, to talk of your conscience, which was becoming prudish. I saw that your cake was all dough; that some day or other you might peach, Mister Eyeless, and then--”

”Old No-eyes will nip you, Screech-Owl, for he is hungry,” cried Tortillard, suddenly, pus.h.i.+ng, with all his strength, the old woman by the back.

La Chouette fell forward, uttering a dreadful imprecation, and rolled to the foot of the steps.

”Lick 'em, Towser! La Chouette is yours! Jump on her, old man,” added Tortillard.

Then, seizing hold of the basket, which he had seen the old woman hide, he ran up the stairs precipitately, crying with savage joy, ”There is a push worth double what I gave you a while ago, La Chouette! This time you can't bite me. Oh! you thought I didn't care; thank you, I bleed still.”

”I have her, oh, I have her!” cried the Schoolmaster from the depths of the cellar.

”If you have her, old man, fair play,” said the boy, chuckling, as he stopped on the top step of the staircase.

”Help!” cried La Chouette, in a strangled voice.

”Thank you, Tortillard,” answered the Schoolmaster; ”thank you,” and he uttered an aspiration of fearful joy.

”Oh! I pardon you the harm you have done me, and to reward you, you shall hear La Chouette sing! Listen to the bird of death--'

”Bravo, bravo! here am I in the dress circle, private box,” said Tortillard, seating himself at the top of the stairs. He raised the light to endeavor to see what was going on in the cellar, but the darkness was too great; so faint a light could not dissipate it.

Bras-Rouge's hopeful could distinguish nothing. The struggle between the Schoolmaster and La Chouette was silent and furious, without a word, without a cry. Only, from time to time, could be heard a hard breathing or suffocating respiration, which always accompanies violent and continued struggles.

Tortillard, seated on the stone step, began to stamp his feet in the manner peculiar to spectators anxious for the commencement of a play; then he uttered the familiar cry of the ”G.o.ds” in the penny-gaffs.