This variation augmented the hilarity of La Chouette. Having placed her basket in a hole under one of the steps, she said, "Look here, my man."
"He does not see," answered Tortillard.
"The boy is right. Ah, well! Do you hear? You should not have hindered me, when we returned from the farm, from washing Pegriotte's face with vitriol. You should not have played the good dog, simpleton. And then, to talk of your conscience, which was becoming prudish. I saw that your cake was all dough; that some day or other you might peach, Mister Eyeless, and then—"
"Old No-eyes will nip you, Screech-Owl, for he is hungry," cried Tortillard, suddenly, pushing, with all his strength, the old woman by the back.
La Chouette fell forward, uttering a dreadful imprecation, and rolled to the foot of the steps.
"Lick 'em, Towser! La Chouette is yours! Jump on her, old man," added
Tortillard.
Then, seizing hold of the basket, which he had seen the old woman hide, he ran up the stairs precipitately, crying with savage joy, "There is a push worth double what I gave you a while ago, La Chouette! This time you can't bite me. Oh! you thought I didn't care; thank you, I bleed still."
"I have her, oh, I have her!" cried the Schoolmaster from the depths of the cellar.
"If you have her, old man, fair play," said the boy, chuckling, as he stopped on the top step of the staircase.
"Help!" cried La Chouette, in a strangled voice.