"No he can sleep off his wine there."
"And Calabash?"
"It is different. You can open the door after I have gone to bed; it makes me feel bad to see her."
"Go; and may the devil confound you!"
"Is it your good-night, mother?"
"Yes."
"Happily, it will be the last," said Martial.
"The last," replied the widow.
Her son lighted a candle, and, opening the kitchen door, whistled to his dog, which came bounding in, and followed his master to the upper story of the mansion.
"Go! your account is finished," muttered the mother, shaking her fist at her son, who had just gone upstairs, "you have brought it upon yourself." Then, assisted by Calabash, who went to look for a bunch of false keys, the widow picked the lock of the cellar where Nicholas was confined, and set him at liberty.