"The cook, the cook!" she cried. "Bring the cook before me."
[LVI]
They dragged forward the marquis and Mario, who clung desperately to him.
Bellinde recognized the child at the first glance, and her face, blanched by fear, flushed purple with savage joy.
"My friends," she cried, "we have the wild boar and the shote, and there's a chance for a handsome ransom for us, for us alone, you understand! no sharing with the Germans,"—she designated thus the captain's reitres,—"nor with Monsieur Saccage and his Italians! The Bois-Doré and the young one belong to us alone, and vive la France, tudieu! Pen, paper and ink—and quickly! The marquis must sign his ransom! I know all about his property, and I warrant you that he'll not conceal any of it from me! A thousand gold crowns for each of these fine fellows, do you hear, marquis? and for myself the promise that I asked of you."
"I will give you my whole fortune, wicked woman, if my son's life is spared. Give me the pen—give it to me!"
"No," replied Proserpine. "It is not your property alone that I want, but your name, and you must sign the promise of marriage."
The marquis would not have believed that the termagant would dare to announce her aspirations before witnesses. But the reitres, far from being scandalized, applauded, as if it were a most excellent trick, and the blood mounted to Bois-Doré's face in his intense abhorrence of the abject and absurd rôle assigned to him.
"You ask too much of me, madame," he said, shrugging his shoulders; "take my gold and my estates, but my honor——"
"Is that your last word, old idiot? Come hither, comrades! a rope, and string up this brat!"