“‘Great satisfaction will it be to me, when I shall be rotting in a pauper’s grave; and great gratitude will she owe me for the kicks and cuffs I’ve given her.’ The old woman laughed, a sneering, devilish laugh. ‘No,’ she continued in a low muttering tone, as if to herself; ‘my sand is nearly run, almost gone; I see it in the embers; I feel it in my bones. What difference does it make when you’re dead, whether you’re buried in the ground, or burnt up? I’d as soon have a hole in the ground, as a fine tomb.’
“During this dialogue I had remained silent, in a distant corner of the room. The fitful gleams from the decaying fire, and the muffled light of the lantern, partially illumined this witch-like apartment, and cast fantastic shadows along the wall; in one corner was thrown a straw bed, upon which the old woman slept; a table, two or three ricketty chairs and a few pieces of broken crockery, constituted its sole furniture; a ladder, placed against the wall, led to my sleeping place, to which I nightly ascended through a hole in the ceiling. At length, arousing herself from her reverie, she said,
“‘You may have the girl for ten louis; if you’ll give me that, you may have her.’
“‘Will you sign a paper I shall draw up; promising never to seek to see her, or speak to her after she leaves you, as I wish to change her turn of mind, and teach her better things.’
“‘Oh, yes; the girl hates me, and what should we want to see each other for. As for me, I hate the whole world; yes, I hate it, I have had my revenge; I have robbed, I have stole, and begged; and steal and beg I always will, until I’m put in the ground. The world owes me a living for the troubles I’ve had. No, I shall never want to see her again, if she leaves me.’
“In the meantime, my new friend took a piece of paper from his pocket, and wrote something upon it in pencil mark. I did not even know my alphabet then; it is therefore impossible for me to say what were the contents of that paper. I presume it was merely a legal technicality, transferring all her rights over to himself. When he had finished, he handed it to her to sign.
“‘I can’t write,’ said she, ‘but I’ll make my mark.’
“‘Well, make a cross, that will do.’ She obeyed, and scrawled two lines across each other; he took the paper from her hand, and put it in his pocket-book; then counted ten louis from his purse, and placed them in her withered claws. She carefully counted them over after him, and being satisfied that the number was correct, deposited the money in a piece of rag, torn off one of her garments, tied a string around it, and laid it in her bosom.
“The man rose, and gathered his cloak around him.
“‘Come my child, my business with her is done; let us depart.’