"Ouf!" she exclaimed, taking in deep breaths of air.
And her figure, which had been long compressed, now swelled out, revealing the characteristic roundness, the stain of motherhood, the crime. They continued on their way.
A few steps further on they entered an inn by the roadside, and ordered a quart of wine.
"Why didn't you say I was pregnant?" asked the woman.
The man answered:
"What? That she might show us the door, as the three others have done?"
"To-day or to-morrow makes but little difference."
Then the man murmured between his teeth:
"If you were a woman,—well, you would go this very evening to Mother Hurlot. She has herbs."
But the woman began to weep. And in her tears she groaned: