Macquart looked at her more keenly, and, as he drank his hot wine, he said:
'Perhaps she came to take François back with her.'
'Oh, Heaven forbid!' cried Rose, with an expression of horror. 'The master would go on finely in the house; he would kill us all. The idea of his return is one of my greatest dreads; I'm in a constant worry lest he should make his escape and get back some night and murder us all. When I think about it when I'm in bed, I can't go to sleep. I fancy I can see him stealing in through the window with his hair bristling and his eyes flaming like matches.'
This made Macquart very merry, and he rapped his cup on the table.
'It would be very unpleasant,' he said, 'very unpleasant. I don't suppose he feels very kindly towards you, least of all towards the Curé who has stepped into his place. The Curé would only make a mouthful for him, big as he is, for madmen, they say, are awfully strong. I say, Alexandre, just imagine poor François suddenly making his appearance at home! He would make a pretty clean sweep there, wouldn't he? It would be a fine sight, eh?'
He cast glances at the warder, who went on quietly drinking his mulled wine and made no reply beyond nodding his head assentingly.
'Oh! it's only a fancy; it's all nonsense,' added Macquart, as he observed Rose's terrified looks.
Just at that moment, Marthe began to struggle violently behind the calico curtain; and she had to be held for some minutes in order that she might not fall upon the floor. When she was again stretched out in corpse-like rigidity, her uncle came and warmed his legs before the fire, reflecting and murmuring as if without paying heed to what he said:
'The little woman isn't very easy to manage, indeed.' Then he suddenly exclaimed:
'The Rougons, now, what do they say about all this business? They take the Curé's side, don't they?'