The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 4 of 6. Эжен Сю

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СКАЧАТЬ few minutes Amandine, addressing the widow timidly, showed her the shirt, and said:

      "Mother, I have done it."

      Without making any reply, the widow threw her another piece of linen. The child did not catch it quickly enough, and it fell on the ground. Her tall sister gave her, with her hand as hard as wood, a sharp slap on the arm, saying:

      "You stupid brat!"

      Amandine resumed her seat, and set to work actively, after having exchanged with her brother a glance of her eye, into which a tear had started.

      The same silence continued to reign in the kitchen. Without, the wind still moaned and dashed about the sign in front of the house. This dismal creaking, and the dull boiling of a pot placed over the fire, were the only sounds that were heard. The two children observed, with secret fright, that their mother did not speak. Although she was habitually taciturn, this complete silence, and a certain drawing in of the lips, announced to them that the widow was in what they called her white passion, that is to say, was a prey to concentrated irritation.

      The fire was going out for want of fuel.

      "François, a log," said Calabash.

      The young mender of forbidden nets looked into a nook beside the chimney, and replied:

      "There are no more there."

      "Then go to the wood-pile," said Calabash.

      François murmured some unintelligible words, but did not stir.

      "Do you hear me, François?" inquired Calabash, harshly.

      The felon's widow laid on her knees a towel she was also unmarking, and looked at her son. He had lowered his head, but he guessed he felt, if we may use the expression, the fierce look his mother cast upon him, and, fearful of encountering her dreaded countenance, the boy remained without stirring.

      "I say, are you deaf, François?" said Calabash, in an irritated tone. "Mother, you see!"

      The tall sister seemed to be happy in finding fault with the two children, and to seek for them the punishment which the widow pitilessly inflicted. Amandine, without being observed, gently touched her brother's elbow, to make him quietly do what Calabash desired. François did not stir. The elder sister still looked at her mother as demanding the punishment of the offender, and the widow understood her. With her long lean finger she pointed to a stick of stout and pliant willow placed in a recess near the chimney. Calabash stooped forward, took up this staff of chastisement, and handed it to her mother. François had seen his mother's gesture, and, rising suddenly, sprung out of the reach of the threatening stick.

      "Do you want mother to break your back?" exclaimed Calabash.

      The widow, still holding the willow stick in her hand, pinching her pale lips together more and more, looked at François with a fixed eye, but without uttering a syllable. By the slight tremor of Amandine's hands, with her head bent downwards, and the redness which suddenly overspread her neck, it was easy to see that the child, although habituated to such scenes, was alarmed at the fate that threatened her brother, who had taken refuge in a corner of the kitchen, and seemed frightened and irritated.

      "Mind yourself, mother's going to begin, and then it will be too late!" said the tall sister.

      "I don't care!" replied François, turning pale. "I'd rather be beaten as I was the day before yesterday, than – go to the wood-pile – and at night – again."

      "And why?" asked Calabash, impatiently.

      "I am – afraid of the wood-pile – I – " answered the boy, shuddering as he spoke.

      "Afraid – you stupid! And of what?"

      François shook his head, but did not reply.

      "Will you answer? What are you afraid of?"

      "I don't know. But I am frightened."

      "Why, you've been there a hundred times, and last night, too."

      "I won't go there any more."

      "Mother's going to begin."

      "So much the worse for me," exclaimed the lad. "But she may beat me, kill me, and I'll not go near the wood-pile – not at night."

      "Once more – why not?" inquired Calabash.

      "Why, because – "

      "Because – ?"

      "Because there's some one – "

      "There's some one – "

      "Buried there!" said François, with a shudder.

      The felon's widow, in spite of her impassiveness, could not repress a sudden start; her daughter did the same. It seemed as though the two women were struck with an electric shock.

      "Some one buried by the wood-pile?" said Calabash, shrugging her shoulders.

      "I tell you that just now, whilst I was piling up some wood, I saw in a dark corner near the wood-pile a dead man's bone; it was sticking a little way out of the ground where it was damp, just by the corner," added François.

      "Do you hear him, mother? Why, the boy's a fool!" said Calabash, making a signal to the widow. "They are mutton-bones I put there for washing-lye."

      "It was not a mutton-bone," replied the boy, with alarm, "it was a dead person's bones, – a dead man's bones. I saw quite plainly a foot that stuck out of the ground."

      "And, of course, you told your brother, your dear friend Martial, of your grand discovery, didn't you?" asked Calabash, with brutal irony.

      François made no reply.

      "Nasty little spy!" said Calabash, savagely; "because he is as cowardly as a cur, and would as soon see us scragged, as our father was scragged before us."

      "If you call me a spy, I'll tell my brother Martial everything!" said François, much enraged. "I haven't told him yet, for I haven't seen him since; but, when he comes here this evening, I'll – "

      The child could not finish; his mother came up to him, calm and inexorable as ever. Although she habitually stooped a little, her figure was still tall for a woman. Holding the willow wand in one hand, with the other the widow took her son by the arm, and, in spite of alarm, resistance, prayers, and tears of the child, she dragged him after her, and made him ascend the staircase at the further end of the kitchen. After a moment's interval, there was heard heavy trampling, mingled with cries and sobs. Some minutes afterwards this noise ceased. A door shut violently; the felon's widow descended. Then, as impassive as ever, she put the stick in its usual place, seated herself close to the fireplace, and resumed her occupation, without saying a word.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE FRESHWATER PIRATE

      After a silence of several minutes, the criminal's widow said to her daughter:

      "Go and get some wood; we will set the wood-pile to rights when Nicholas and Martial return home this evening."

      "Martial! Do you mean to tell him also that – "

      "The wood, I say!" repeated the widow, abruptly interrupting her daughter, who, СКАЧАТЬ