"Bah! he is asleep. Since this morning he has made no noise; and his dog is silent."

"Perhaps he has strangled it for food; these two days past they must have been almost mad with hunger up there."

"It is their business. Martial may endure all this as long as he pleases, if it amuses him; when he has finished, we will say that he died from a severe illness; there will be no difficulty."

"You think so?"

"Most surely. On going this morning to Asnieres, mother met Ferot, the fisherman; as he expressed his surprise at not having seen his friend Martial for two days, she told him that Martial did not leave his bed, he was so ill, and his life was despaired of. He swallowed all that just like honey; he will tell it to others--and when the affair happens it will seem all natural."

"Yes, but he will not die at once; it takes a long time in this way."

"There is no other way to manage it. This madman, Martial, when he has a mind, is as wicked as the devil, and as strong as a bull in the bargain; had he suspected us, we could not have approached him without danger; while with his door once well nailed up on the outside, what can he do? His window was already ironed."

"He could loosen the bars by breaking away the plaster with his knife, which he would have done, if, mounted on a ladder, I had not mangled his hands with the hatchet every time he commenced his work!"

"What a duty!" said the other, chuckling; "how much you must have been amused!"

"I had to give you time to arrive with the iron plate and bars which you went to Micou's for."

"How he must have foamed. Dear brother!"

"He ground his teeth like a madman; two or three times he tried to push me off with blows from his club, but then, having but one hand free, he could not work at the grating."

"Fortunately, there is no fireplace in the room!"

"Yes, and the door is strong and his hands wounded! but for this he would be capable of making a hole through the plank."

"No, no, there is no danger that he can escape. His bier is more solid than if it were made of oak and lead."

"I say--when La Louve gets out of prison, and comes here to seek her man, as she calls him?"

"Well! we will tell her to look for him."

"Apropos, do you know that if mother had not shut up these scamps of children, they would have been capable of gnawing the door like rats, to deliver Martial! That little scoundrel, Francois, is a real devil since he suspects that we have shut up our big brother."

"But are you going to leave them in the room upstairs while we are away from the island? Their window is not grated--they have only to descend from the outside."

At this moment cries and sobs in the house attracted the attention of Nicholas and Calabash. They saw the opened door of the ground-floor shut violently: a moment after the pale and sinister face of the widow appeared at the kitchen-window. With her long, bony arm she beckoned her children to come to the house.

"Come, there is a squabble! I bet it is Francois who kicks," said Nicholas.

"Scoundrel of a Martial! except for him the boy would have been all alone. Watch well, and if you see the two females coming, call me."

While Calabash, mounted on the bench, awaited their approach, Nicholas entered the house. 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.

As usual, quiet and calm, she pointed to the half-open door leading to the cellar, and made a sign to her son that she wished Francois shut up there.

"I will not go there!" cried the determined child, whose eyes sparkled like those of a wild cat; "you wish to let us die with hunger, like brother Martial."

"Mamma, for the love of G.o.d, leave us upstairs in our own room, as you did yesterday," asked the little girl in a supplicating tone, clasping her hands; "in the dark cellar we shall be so much afraid!"

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 shivering, she murmured to herself, "It is his fault--his own fault."