"Music! Music! Play up! Up with the curtain!"
"Oh, now I have hold of you, as I desired," murmured the Schoolmaster, from the recess of the cellar; "and you were going—"
A desperate movement of the Chouette interrupted him; she struggled with all the energy which the fear of death inspires.
"Louder! Can't hear!" bawled Tortillard.
"It is in vain you try to gnaw my hand, I will hold you as I like," said the Schoolmaster. Then, having, no doubt, succeeded in keeping the Chouette down, he added, "That's it! Now listen—"
"Tortillard, call your father!" shrieked the Chouette, with a faltering, exhausted voice. "Help! Help!"
"Turn her out, the old thing! She won't let us hear," said the little cripple, with a shout of laughter; "put her out!"
The Chouette's cries were not audible from this cavern, low as it was. The wretched creature, seeing that there was no chance of help from Bras-Rouge's son, resolved to try a last effort.
"Tortillard, go and fetch help, and I will give you my basket; it is full of jewels. There it is, under a stone."
"How generous! Thank ye, madame. Why, haven't I got it already? Hark! Don't you hear how it rattles?" said Tortillard, shaking it. "But now, if you'll give us half a pound of gingerbread nuts, I'll go and fetch pa."