"Indeed, it was no fault of mine. It was Mlle. Clara, who wished—"
"That is not true!" interrupted the speaker. "You never even opened your mouth in her favour. No, not you? You were too well pleased to see her bread taken from her."
"No, no! no more she did," chimed in a burst of voices, male and female.
"She is a regular bad one!"
"A poor widow-woman, with three helpless children!"
"If I did not plead for her with Mlle. Clara, it was because I had not power to utter a word."
"You could find strength enough to talk to a set of thieves and murderers!"
And, as is frequently the case in public commotions, the country people, more ignorant than vicious, actually talked themselves into a fury, until their own words and violence excited them to fresh acts of rage and vengeance against their unhappy victim.
The menacing throng, gesticulating, and loudly threatening, advanced closer and closer towards Fleur-de-Marie, while the widow appeared to have lost all command over herself. Separated from the deep pond only by the parapet on which she was leaning, the Goualeuse shuddered at the idea of their throwing her into the water; and, extending towards them her supplicating hands, she exclaimed:
"Good, kind people! what do you want with me? For pity's sake do not harm me!"