"Yes, sister," answered the trembling child; "I will be sure to do as you wish me." "Yes, that is what you always say; but you never do more than promise, you little slink! That time that I desired you to take a five-franc piece out of the grocer's till at Asnieres, while I managed to keep the man occupied at the other end of the shop, you did not choose to obey me; and yet you might have done it so easily; no one ever mistrusts a child. Pray what was your reason for not doing as you were bid?" "Because, sister, my heart failed me, and I was afraid." "And yet, the other day, you took a handkerchief out of the peddler's pack, when the man was selling his goods inside the public-house. Pray did he find it out, you silly thing?" "Oh, but, sister, you know the handkerchief was for you, not me; and you made me do it. Besides, it was not money." "What difference does that make?" "Oh, why, taking a handkerchief is not half so wicked as stealing money!" "Upon my word," said Calabash, contemptuously, "these are mighty fine notions! I suppose it is Martial stuffs your head with all this rubbish. I suppose you will run open-mouthed to tell him every word we have said,--eh, little spy? But Lord bless you! We are not afraid of you or Martial either; you can neither eat us nor drink us, that is one good thing." Then, addressing herself to the widow, Calabash continued, "I tell you what, mother, that fellow will get himself into no good by trying to rule, and domineer, and lay down the law here, as he does; both Nicholas and myself are determined not to submit to it. He sets both Amandine and Francois against everything either you or I order them to do. Do you think this can last much longer?" "No!" said the mother, in a harsh, abrupt voice. "Ever since his Louve has been sent to St. Lazare, Martial has gone on like a madman, savage as a bear with every one. Pray is it our fault? Can we help his sweetheart being put in prison? Only let her show her face here when she comes out, and I'll serve her in such a way she sha'n't forget one while! I'll match her! I'll--" Here the widow, who had been buried in profound reflection, suddenly interrupted her daughter by saying: "You think something profitable might be got out of the old fellow who lives in the doctor's house, do you not?" "Yes, mother!" "He looks poor and shabby as any common beggar!" "And, for all that, he is a nobleman." "A nobleman?" "True as you're alive! And, what's more, he carries a purse full of gold, spite of his always going into Paris, and returning, on foot, leaning on an old stick, just for all the world like a poor wretch that had not a sou in the world." "How do you know that he has gold?" "A little while ago I was at the post-office at Asnieres, to inquire whether there was any letter for us from Toulon--"