"Why, home, to be sure, to the Rue Pierre-Lescat. I have my furniture there."
"And Martial?" said La Goualeuse, who hoped to keep up the conversation with La Louve, by interesting her in what she most cared for; "shall you be glad to see him again?"
"Yes, oh, yes!" she replied, with a passionate air. "When I was taken up, he was just recovering from an illness,—a fever which he had from being always in the water. For seventeen days and seventeen nights I never left him for a moment, and I sold half my kit in order to pay the doctor, the drags and all. I may boast of that, and I do boast of it. If my man lives, it is I who saved him. Yesterday I burnt another candle for him. It is folly,—a mere whim,—but yet it is all one, and we have sometimes very good effects in burning candles for a person's recovery."
"And, Martial, where is he now? What is he doing?"
"He is still on an island, near the bridge, at Asnières."
"On an island?"
"Yes, he is settled there, with his family, in a lone house. He is always at loggerheads with the persons who protect the fishing; but when he is once in his boat, with his double-barrelled gun, why, they who approach him had better look out!" said La Louve, proudly.
"What, then, is his occupation?"
"He poaches in the night; and then, as he is as bold as a lion, when some coward wishes to get up a quarrel with another, why, he will lend his hand."
"Where did you first know Martial?"