"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_" This involuntary appeal to divine mercy by a man stained by every crime, a bandit in whose presence but very recently the most resolute of his fellows trembled, appeared like an interposition of Providence. "Ha! ha! ha!" said the Chouette, in a mocking tone; "look at the thief making the crucifix! You mistake your road, my man. It is the 'old one' you should call to your help." "A knife! Oh, for a knife to kill myself! A knife! since all the world abandons me!" shrieked the wretch, gnawing his fists for very agony and rage. "A knife!--there's one in your pocket, cut-throat, and with an edge, too. The little old man in the Rue du Roule, you know, one moonlight night, and the cattle-dealer in the Poissy road, could tell the 'moles' all about it. But if you want it, it's here." The Schoolmaster, when thus instructed, changed the conversation, and replied, in a surly and threatening tone: "The Chourineur was true; he did not rob, but had pity on me." "Why did you say that I had 'prigged your blunt'?" inquired the Chouette, hardly able to restrain her laughter. "It was only you who came into my room," said the miscreant. "I was robbed on the night of your arrival, and who else could I suspect? Those country people could not have done such a thing." "Why should not country people steal as well as other folks? Is it because they drink milk and gather grass for their rabbits?" "I don't know. I only know I'm robbed." "And is that the fault of your own Chouette? What! suspect me? Do you think if I had got your belt that I should stay any longer with you. What a fool you are! Why, if I had chosen to 'pouch your blunt,' I could, of course; but, as true as I'm Chouette, you would have seen me again when the 'pewter' was spent, for I like you as well now with your eyes white, as I did--you rogue, you! Come, be decent, and leave off grinding your 'snags' in that way, or you'll break 'em." "It's just as if he was a-cracking nuts," said Tortillard.