"You mad fool, Jean! you shall listen, and you shall hear all," cried _ma mere_ furiously; "and I will torment you till you see that you are _bete_. The little worker--the pink doll--is not for you; and you shall not have her. But it was good sport, Jean--rare sport, Jean. That sniff woman, poor fool! told me. He carried her down the stairs-- carried her down in his arms, of course, for he loves her; and let him marry her if he will; who cares? for she is not for you. Do you hear, _bete_? he carried her lovingly down in his arms." Jean winced as he sat in his old place at the window, but pretended not to hear, though from the working of his nostrils it was plain how eagerly he drank in every word. "No, Jean, she is not for you," cried the old woman. "I hate her, and you shall not love her, but someone else; for she has always set you against me. I know--I know all--all--all!" she exclaimed, muttering and nodding her head; "he struck down the Jarker--big wretch; and then the Jarker waited hour after hour, hour after hour, into the dark night, and watched for him till he was talking to the painted woman, and struck him down too; and then I saw more too, and I was not going to tell--O no-- though I think he killed her. But no, no, Jean, I would not tell, for I have my plans; and pah! there are plenty more painted women. But no, no, Jean, you shall not have the pink doll. You must love me, Jean, till I tell you to marry." The young man writhed in his chair, but he spoke no word; while his mother knitted furiously, clicking her needles and smiling maliciously as she watched him sideways. "No, no, Jean, you shall not have the pink doll; and you cannot see her now--they are gone." "But she will come," cried Jean angrily, with something of his mother's spirit bursting forth. "No, no!" half-shrieked his mother; "she shall not--I will not have her. But no, she will not come, you _bete_, for the preacher is ill with the Jarker's blow, and she nurses him and smoothes his pillow. Fool!" she cried in a sharp, cracked voice, "I will torment you to death if you tear not the hateful little thing from your foolish heart. You shall only love me till I tell you. But now listen: it is dark now, and I have my plans. The Jarker is away, and the police hunt him. Now listen, fool, while I tell you. They may take him, but I hope not yet; for you shall be rich, Jean--you shall have money and all that the great people have, and plenty of fine dolls shall be proud to have you, Jean; for I am proud of you; and what was she? Bah! nothing. I know the Jarker's secret--I know it two years; but he does not think it, for I have been still and waited two years, Jean--more. He suspect me once, but he dare not touch me, and I have given him no chance since. And should I tell till it was time? No, no!"