"Laugh away, but let me have it," said Mont Saint-Jean; "and pray do not drag it in the mud as you have some of the other things. I'm sorry you've made your hands so dirty for me, Goualeuse," she added, in a grateful tone. "Let me have the harlequin's cap," said La Louve, who obtained possession of it, and waved it in the air as a trophy. "Give it to me, I entreat you," said Goualeuse. "No! You want to give it back to Mont Saint-Jean." "Certainly I do." "Oh, it is not worth while, it is such a rag." "Mont Saint-Jean has nothing but rags to dress her child in, and you ought to have pity upon her, La Louve," said Fleur-de-Marie, in a mournful voice, and stretching out her hand towards the cap. "You sha'n't have it!" answered La Louve, in a brutal tone; "must everybody always give way to you because you are the weakest? You come, I see, to abuse the kindness that is shown to you." "But," said La Goualeuse, with a smile full of sweetness, "where would be the merit of giving up to me, if I were the stronger of the two?" "No, no; you want to wheedle me over with your smooth, canting words; but it won't do,--you sha'n't have it, I tell you." "Come, come, now, La Louve, do not be ill-natured." "Let me alone! You tire me to death!" "Oh, pray do!" "I will not!" "Yes, do,--let me beg of you!" "Now, don't put me in a passion," exclaimed La Louve, thoroughly irritated. "I have said no, and I mean no." "Take pity on the poor thing, see how she is crying!" "What is that to me? So much the worse for her; she is our pain-bearer" (_souffre douleur_). "So she is," murmured out a number of the prisoners, instigated by the example of La Louve. "No, no, she ought not to have her rags back! So much the worse for Mont Saint-Jean." "You are right," said Fleur-de-Marie, with bitterness; "it is so much the worse for her; she is your pain-bearer, she ought to submit herself to your pleasure,--her tears and sighs amuse and divert you!--and you must have some way of passing your time. Were you to kill her on the spot, she would have no right to say anything. You speak truly, La Louve, this is just and fair, is it not? Here is a poor, weak, defenceless woman; alone in the midst of so many, she is quite unable to defend herself, yet you all combine against her! Certainly your behaviour towards her is most just and generous!" "And I suppose you mean to say we are all a parcel of cowards?" retorted La Louve, carried away by the violence of her disposition and extreme impatience at anything like contradiction. "Answer me, do you call us cowards, eh? Speak out, and let us know your meaning," continued she, growing more and more incensed. A murmur of displeasure against La Goualeuse, not unmixed with threats, arose from the assembled crowd. The offended prisoners thronged around her, vociferating their disapprobation, forgetting, or remembering but as a fresh cause of offence, the ascendency she had until the present moment exercised over them.