"What is it, Jeanne Marie?" said Simon, surprised! "why are you holding me so?"
"Because I do not want you to beat him to death," she said, with a hoarse, rough voice.
He broke out into loud laughter. "I really believe that the knitter of the guillotine has pity on the son of the she-wolf."
A convulsive quiver passed through her whole frame. A singular, gurgling sound came from her chest; she put both her hands to her neck and tore the little kerchief off, as if it were tied tight enough to strangle her.
"No," she said, in a suppressed tone, "no compassion on the wolf's brood! But if you beat him to death, they will have to bring you to the guillotine, that it may not appear as if they had ordered you to kill the little Capet."
"True," said Simon, "you are right, and I thank you, Jeanne Marie, that you may remind me of it. It shows that you love me still, although you are always so quiet. Yes, yes, I will be more careful; I will take care to beat the little serpent only so much that it may not bite, but cannot die."
Jeanne Marie made no reply, but sat down in the corner again, and took up her stocking, without touching the needles, however, and going on with her work.
"Get up, you cursed snake!" growled Simon, "get up and go out of my sight, and do not stir me up again."
The child rose slowly from the floor, crept to the wash-basin and with his trembling, bruised hands wiped away the blood that was flowing out of his nose and mouth. A loud, gurgling sound came from the corner where Jeanne Marie sat. It seemed half like a cry, half like a sob. When Simon looked around, his wife lay pale and motionless on the floor; she had sunk from her chair in a swoon.
Simon grasped her in his strong arms and carried her to the bed, laid her gently and carefully down, and busied himself about her, showing a manifest anxiety.