"Sister, you forced me—it was for you; and, besides, it was not money."
"What of that?"
"To take a handkerchief is not so bad as to take money."
"On my word! Martial teaches you these whims doesn't he?" said Calabash, in an ironical manner. "You'll go and tell him everything, little spy! Do you think we are afraid that he'll eat us?" Then, addressing the widow, Calabash added, "Mother, this will end badly for him; he wants to lay down the law here. Nicholas is furious against him; so am I. He sets Amandine and Francois against us, against you. Can it be borne?"
"No!" said the mother, in a short, harsh voice.
"It is especially since his Louve was Saint-Lazared that he has gone on like a madman. Is it our fault that she is in prison? When she is once out of prison, let her come here, and I will serve her out—good measure—though she is strong."
The widow, after a moment's pause, said to her daughter, "You think there is something to be done with the old man who lives in the doctor's house?"
"Yes, mother."
"He looks like a beggar."
"That doesn't prevent his being a noble."