"No," said Martial, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. "No, I do not believe you. You tell me that to---" "To prove to you that, if you live here in spite of us, you run the risk every moment to be arrested as an accomplice in murder and robbery. You were here Christmas night; we will say how you gave us your aid; how can you prove the contrary?" "Oh!" said Martial, hiding his face in his hands. "Now will you go?" said the widow, with a sarcastic smile. Martial was thunderstruck; he did not doubt the truth of what his mother had said; the roving life he led, his residence with a family so criminal, might cause heavy suspicions to fall upon him, and these might be changed into certainties in the eyes of justice, if his mother, his brother, his sister, pointed to him as their accomplice. The widow enjoyed the situation of her son. "You have the means to escape from this; denounce us!" "I ought to do it, but I shall not; you know it well!" "It is for this I have told you all. Now will you go?" Martial tried to soften his mother; with a mellowed voice he said, "Mother, I do not believe you capable of this murder." "As you like, but go away." "I will go on one condition." "No conditions." "You will place the children as apprentices far from this, in the provinces." "They shall remain here." "Come now, mother; when you have made them like Nicholas, Ambrose, father--what good will it do you?" "To do some good business with their aid. We are not yet too many. Calabash remains here with me to keep the tavern. Nicholas is alone; once taught, Francois and Amandine will help him. They threw stones at them also, children as they were; they must revenge themselves." "Mother, you love Calabash and Nicholas, don't you?" "What then?" "They will go to the scaffold like father." "What then, what then?" "And does not their fate make you tremble?" "Their fate shall be mine--neither better nor worse. I steal, they steal; I kill, they kill. Who takes the mother will take the children. We will not be separated. If our heads fall, they shall fall in the same basket, where they will say adieu! We will not turn back; you are the only coward in the family; we drive you away. Get out!" "But the children--the children!" "The children will grow up. I tell you, except for you, they would have been already formed. Francois is almost ready; when you are gone, Amandine shall make up for lost time." "Mother, I entreat you, consent to send the children away as apprentices far from here." "How many times must I tell you that they are in apprenticeship here?" The widow articulated these words in such a stern manner that Martial lost all hope of softening this heart of bronze. "Since it is thus," said he, in a resolute and brief tone, "listen to me in your turn, mother; I remain." "Ah, ah!"