"Who gave you such ideas?"
"Martial. He was a poacher in Rambouillet Wood. About a year ago he was looked upon as having fired upon a guard who had fired upon him—villain of a guard! It was not proved in court, but Martial was obliged to leave. So he then came to Paris to learn a trade; as I said, he left and went to maraud on the river; it is less slavish. But he always regrets the woods, and will return there some day or other."
"And, La Louve, where are your parents?"
"Do you think I know!"
"Is it a long time since you have seen them?"
"I do not know if they are dead or alive."
Fleur-de-Marie, although plunged very young into an atmosphere of corruption, had since respired an air so pure, that she experienced a painful oppression at the horrid story of La Louve. Suppressing the emotion which the sad confession of her companion had caused her, she said to her, timidly, "Listen to me without being angry."
"Come, say on; I hope I have talked enough; but, in truth, all the same, since it is the last time we shall converse together."
"Are you happy, La Louve?"
"What do you mean?"