"That will teach her not to show her face among honest people again!" "To be sure. Toss her in!--fling her over!" "Fortunately, the ice was broken this morning!" "And when she has had her bath she may go and tell her street companions how the folks at Arnouville farm serve such vile girls as she is!" As these unfeeling speeches reached her ear, as she heard their barbarous jokes, and observed the exasperated looks of the brutally excited individuals who approached her to carry their threat into execution, Fleur-de-Marie gave herself over for lost. But to her first horror of a violent death succeeded a sort of gloomy satisfaction. The future wore so threatening and hopeless an aspect for her that she thanked heaven for shortening her trial. Not another complaining word escaped her; but gently falling on her knees, and piously folding her hands upon her breast, she closed her eyes, and meekly resigned herself to her fate. The labourers, surprised at the attitude and mute resignation of the Goualeuse, hesitated a moment in the accomplishment of their savage design; but, rallied on their folly and irresolution by the female part of the assemblage, they recommenced their uproarious cries, as though to inspire themselves with the necessary courage to complete their wicked purpose. Just as two of the most furious of the party were about to seize on Fleur-de-Marie a loud, thrilling voice was heard, exclaiming: "Stop! I command you!" And at the very instant Madame Georges, who had forced a passage through the crowd, reached the still kneeling Goualeuse, took her in her arms, and, raising her, cried: "Rise up, my child! Stand up, my beloved daughter! the knee should be bent to God alone!" The expression and attitude of Madame Georges were so full of courageous firmness that the actors in this cruel scene shrunk back speechless and confounded. Indignation coloured her usually pale features, and casting on the labourers a stern look she said to them, in a loud and threatening voice: "Wretches! Are you not ashamed of such brutal conduct to a helpless girl like this?" "She is--" "My daughter!" exclaimed Madame Georges, with severity, and abruptly interrupting the man who was about to speak, "and, as such, both cherished and protected by our worthy curé, M. l'Abbé Laporte, whom every one venerates and loves; and those whom he loves and esteems ought to be respected by every one!" These simple words effectually imposed silence on the crowd. The curé of Bouqueval was looked upon throughout his district almost as a saint, and many there present were well aware of the interest he took in the Goualeuse. Still a confused murmur went on, and Madame Georges, fully comprehending its import, added: