"Ask François what he saw this morning in the wood-pile."
"François! And what did he see?"
"A man's foot sticking out of the ground. Take a lantern; go and convince your eyes!"
"No," said Martial, wiping his brow, which had burst forth in a cold sweat. "No, I do not believe you. You say it to—"
"To prove to you that, if you remain here in spite of us, you risk every moment being apprehended as an accomplice in robbery and murder. You were here on Christmas night, and we shall declare that you helped us to do this job. How will you prove the contrary?"
"Merciless wretch!" said Martial, hiding his face in his hands.
"Now will you go?" said the widow, with a devilish smile.
Martial was overwhelmed. He, unfortunately, could not doubt what his mother had said to him. The wandering life he led, his dwelling with so criminal a family, must induce the most horrible suspicions of him, and these suspicions would be converted into certainty in the eyes of justice, if his mother, brother, and sister declared him to be their accomplice. The widow was rejoiced at the depression of her son:
"You have one means of getting out of the difficulty: denounce us!"
"I ought, but I will not; and you know that right well."