"The brat's right. Will you hear, _fourline_? There was no occasion, when we came away from the farm, to be such a booby as to turn compassionate, and prevent me from marking Pegriotte's face with my vitriol; and then, too, you talked of your conscience, which was getting troubled. I saw you were growing lily-livered, and meant to come the 'honest dodge;' and so, some of these odd-come-shortlies, you would have turned 'nose' (informer), and have 'made a meal' of us, old No-Eyes; and then--" "Then old No-Eyes will make a meal of you, for he is hungry, Chouette," said Tortillard, suddenly, and with all his strength pushing the old woman by her back. The Chouette fell forward with a horrible imprecation. She might have been distinctly heard as she rolled from the top to the bottom of the staircase. "Bump, bump, bump, bump! There's the Chouette for you--there she is! Why don't you jump upon her, old buffer?" added Tortillard. Then, seizing the basket from under the stone where he had seen the old woman place it, he scampered up the stairs, exclaiming, with a shout of savage joy: "Here's a pull worth more than that you had before,--eh, Chouette? This time you won't bite me till the blood comes,--eh? Ah, you thought I bore no spite--much obliged--my cheek bleeds still!" "Oh, I have her! I have her!" cried the Schoolmaster, from the depth of the cave. "If you have her, old lad, I cry snacks," said Tortillard, with a laugh. And he stopped on the top step of the stairs. "Help!" shrieked the Chouette, in a strangling voice. "Thanks, Tortillard!" said the Schoolmaster, "thanks. And, to reward you, you shall hear the night-bird (Chouette) shriek! Listen, boy,--listen to the bird of death!" "Bravo! Here I am in the dress-boxes!" said Tortillard, seating himself on the top of the stairs. As he said this, he raised the light to endeavour to see the fearful scene which was going on in the depths of the cavern; but the darkness was too thick, so faint a light could not disperse it: Bras-Rouge's son could not see anything. The struggle with the Schoolmaster and the Chouette was mute, deadly, without a word, without a cry; only from time to time was heard the hard breathing, or the stifled groan, which always accompanies violent and desperate efforts. Tortillard, seated on the step, began to stamp his feet with that cadence peculiar to an audience impatient to see the beginning of a play; then he uttered the cry so familiar to the frequenters of the gallery of the minor theatres: "Music! Music! Play up! Up with the curtain!" "Oh, now I have hold of you, as I desired," murmured the Schoolmaster, from the recess of the cellar; "and you were going--" A desperate movement of the Chouette interrupted him; she struggled with all the energy which the fear of death inspires. "Louder! Can't hear!" bawled Tortillard.