"They know now that there is a man buried here; they know that Nicholas has stolen: once in apprenticeship, they will speak; we shall be taken, and we shall all be executed--you, as well as we; that's what will happen if I listen to you--if I allow you to place the children elsewhere. And yet you say you don't wish us any harm! I do not ask you to love me; but do not hasten the moment when we shall be taken." The softened tones of the widow made Martial believe that his threats had produced a salutary effect: he fell into a frightful snare. "I know the children," replied he. "I am sure if I tell them to say nothing they will be quiet; besides, I shall always be with them, and will answer for their silence." "Can any one answer for the words of a child? at Paris, above all, where people are so curious and talkative? It is as much to keep them silent as to aid us that I wish to keep them here." "Do they not go to the village and to Paris now? Who prevents them from speaking, if they wish to speak? If they were far away from here, so much the better: what they might say would be of no consequence." "Far from here! and where is that?" said the widow, looking steadily at her son. "Let me take them away; no consequence to you." "How would you live?" "My old master, the locksmith, is a good man. I will tell him what is necessary, and perhaps he will lend me something on account of the children; with that I'll go and bind them out far away from this. We set out in two days, and you will never hear more of us." "No; I prefer to have them with me. I shall be more sure of them." "Then I establish myself to-morrow at the hovel, waiting for something better. I have a head also, and you know it." "Yes, I know it. Oh, how I wish to see you far away from this! Why did you not stay in your woods?" "I offer to rid you both of myself and the children." "You would leave La Louve, then--she whom you love so well?" "That's my business: I know what I have to do; I have a plan." "If I let you take them away, will you never return to Paris?" "In three days we will be off, and like the dead for you." "I prefer to have it so, rather than you should always be here, and be suspicious of them. Come, since it must be so, take them away, and clear out as soon as possible, that I may never see you again." "Is this settled?" "It is. Give me the key of the cellar, so that I can release Nicholas." "No he can sleep off his wine there." "And Calabash?" "It is different. You can open the door after I have gone to bed; it makes me feel bad to see her." "Go; and may the devil confound you!" "Is it your good-night, mother?" "Yes." "Happily, it will be the last," said Martial. "The last," replied the widow. Her son lighted a candle, and, opening the kitchen door, whistled to his dog, which came bounding in, and followed his master to the upper story of the mansion.