"There isn't one. I never saw her until I felt her stamping on my chest: click, clack, click, clack!"
"Well, where did you put the snare?"
"The pierge? I put it on my stomach, to be sure."
"What sort of a snare did you use?"
"Oh! a famous pierge, with an iron chain, which I passed round my wrist. It weighed about ten pounds. Oh! yes, ten or twelve pounds, at least."
"And that night——?"
"Oh! She was much worse that night. She generally kneads my chest with her goloshes, but that night she had clogs on."
"And did she come like that?"
"Every living night the good Lord made. I get so thin with it that I am becoming quite consumptive: but this morning I have made up my mind."
"What have you decided to do, Mocquet?"