The labourers, surprised at the attitude and mute resignation of the Goualeuse, hesitated a moment in the accomplishment of their savage design; but, rallied on their folly and irresolution by the female part of the assemblage, they recommenced their uproarious cries, as though to inspire themselves with the necessary courage to complete their wicked purpose.
Just as two of the most furious of the party were about to seize on Fleur-de-Marie a loud, thrilling voice was heard, exclaiming:
"Stop! I command you!"
And at the very instant Madame Georges, who had forced a passage through the crowd, reached the still kneeling Goualeuse, took her in her arms, and, raising her, cried:
"Rise up, my child! Stand up, my beloved daughter! the knee should be bent to God alone!"
The expression and attitude of Madame Georges were so full of courageous firmness that the actors in this cruel scene shrunk back speechless and confounded. Indignation coloured her usually pale features, and casting on the labourers a stern look she said to them, in a loud and threatening voice:
"Wretches! Are you not ashamed of such brutal conduct to a helpless girl like this?"
"She is—"
"My daughter!" exclaimed Madame Georges, with severity, and abruptly interrupting the man who was about to speak, "and, as such, both cherished and protected by our worthy curé, M. l'Abbé Laporte, whom every one venerates and loves; and those whom he loves and esteems ought to be respected by every one!"
These simple words effectually imposed silence on the crowd. The curé of Bouqueval was looked upon throughout his district almost as a saint, and many there present were well aware of the interest he took in the Goualeuse. Still a confused murmur went on, and Madame Georges, fully comprehending its import, added: