”‘Yes,’ said Marguerite simply, ‘your children with my mother and little Angèle—they are all at rest and happy in heaven.’
”‘But how can there be a heaven—how can there be a God, if He lets us suffer so horribly? Suffer till there is no good, no gentleness, no pity left in us, my girl. There are times when I feel as if the devil were in me, when I would enjoy the sight of their suffering, they who treat us worse than their dogs—dogs indeed! see my lady’s little pampered poodles! if we were treated like their dogs we need not complain—when I would not have a drop of pity in my heart, however I saw them tortured,’ and Madelon’s face, in its thin misery, took an expression which made Marguerite shiver, so that the elder woman, thinking it was from cold, drew her nearer to the fire, which she stirred with her foot.
”‘I should not talk so to you, poor child. Now tell me your troubles. Is it about Louis?’
”‘Partly, and about everything. Last night, Madelon, quite late, that horrible Martin, the bailiff’s son, came down again, sent by his father about the rent. He said if we had not yet got it ready, Louis must either pay the fine or do extra work. You know we have not got it ready—how could we? And then—I think he had been drinking—he began teasing me. He said I was a pretty girl, in spite of my rags;—they are poor enough, Madelon, but they are not rags; I do my best to mend them.’
”‘Ah, that you do,’ replied the neighbour.
”‘And,’ pursued Marguerite, ‘he pulled me to him and tried to kiss me, and said if I would be amiable he would get me a new silk kerchief, and would persuade his father not to be harsh with us for the rent. Put I tried to push him away—and Louis, he got so angry—my poor Louis!—he seized a stick and hit him.’
”‘Hit Martin, the bailiff’s son!’ exclaimed Madelon, an expression of fear and anxiety replacing the sort of hard indifference on her face. ‘My poor child—he must have been mad!’
”‘He did not hurt him much,’ continued Marguerite, ‘but Martin was furious. He went out vowing vengeance, and with an evil smile on his face. And not half-an-hour after he left, one of the bailiff’s men came down, late as it was, to order Louis to be there at five this morning. Louis, so delicate as he is, and so cold and dark and miserable as it was! But that is not the worst; the man—it was André Michaud—was sorry for us, and warned us that Louis is to be terribly punished. The bailiff swore he would put him in harness—the roads are so bad for the horses in this weather; he laughed and said it would give one of them a rest. Oh, Madelon, you know how dreadful it is—and Louis so weak as he is still—it will kill him! I have been all the morning running to the door, thinking he would be coming back, or that perhaps they would be carrying him back, all torn and bleeding, like Félix—you remember Félix, when they put him in the horse’s place, and he broke a blood vessel?’
“Madelon turned away—ah, yes, she remembered but too well, but what could she say? It was true what Marguerite had described, and there was no use in complaining. The lords, such as were cruel enough to do so, were allowed by law to drive the peasants in their employ, in the place of horses or oxen, and even if lashed or goaded till they dropped, the wretched sufferers could claim no redress.
”‘Warm yourself, my child,’ she said at last to the weeping girl. ‘Keep up your heart, for Louis’ sake, as well as you can. Have you a bit of fire in there?’