"Bah! bah! If it was only that, I could break the brute's skull with a blow of my shoe-heel," said the Chouette.
"Here they are," replied Tortillard, who was listening still to the echo of their footsteps. "They are coming down the hollow now."
"Why don't you speak, fourline?" said the Chouette to the Schoolmaster. "What is best to be done, long-headed as you are, eh? Are you grown dumb?"
"There's nothing to be done to-day," replied the miscreant.
"And the thousand 'bob' of the man in mourning," said the Chouette; "they are gone, then? I'd sooner—Your knife—your knife, fourline! I will stick the companion, that she may be no trouble to us; and, as to the young miss, Tortillard and I can make off with her."
"But the man in mourning does not desire that we should kill any one."
"Well, then, we must put the cold meat down as an extra in his bill. He must pay, for he will be an accomplice with us."
"Here they come—down the hill," said Tortillard, softly.
"Your knife, lad!" said the Chouette, in a similar tone.
"Ah, Chouette," cried Tortillard, in alarm, and extending his hands to the hag, "that is too bad—to kill. No!—oh, no!"