"See!" said Leroux, holding her up; "that fury has frightened my pretty bird.—Come, don't be afraid, little one, and let's go in and get warm."
The robbers entered the hovel, which was divided into two rooms: the outer one was that in which the occupants of that horrible den passed most of their time; there they ate, and slept on bundles of straw in one corner. There was a fireplace, where a huge fire was blazing, which warmed the room, the larger and better of the two. The other, which had no fireplace, and but a single window looking into the forest, was Christine's bedroom; they kept their provisions and firewood there.
When she entered that dirty, smoke-begrimed room, and saw the heap of straw in a corner, the weapons standing against the wall, and the great fire, at which several huge joints of meat were cooking for the robbers' supper, Sister Anne's strength gave way, and Leroux carried her to the fire, saying:
"Sit down there and warm yourself; the supper'll bring back your strength."
"What a damned fool you are, to talk to her as if she could hear you!"
"That's so, but I keep forgetting it."
"How do you know she's deaf, anyway?" said Franck; "perhaps she's making believe. She might be just dumb."
"Then someone must have cut her tongue out," said Leroux; "but anyone can see that she's got one like anybody else; so, as she can't speak, it must be because she's deaf. You fellows don't understand about that; but I've travelled in my time, I know more'n you do, and I know that deaf mutes are mute because they can't hear. All you've got to do is look at the woman; anybody can see that she don't hear a word we're saying."
In truth, Sister Anne, since she had entered the cabin, being completely prostrated by fatigue, pain, and fear, had seemed to be insensible to everything that was taking place. However, she heard every word that the brigands said; but, on learning that they believed her to be deaf, a secret presentiment warned her not to correct their error. If they felt sure that she could not hear them, they would not hesitate to discuss their plans before her; thus she would learn what she must fear or hope; and perhaps they might unwittingly suggest a means of escape. That ray of hope sustained the poor girl's courage, and she strove to conceal the emotion caused by the conversation of the cutthroats.
They had laid aside their arms, and while waiting for supper discoursed of their exploits. The dumb girl learned with dismay that she was among villains capable of any crime. But in the very excess of her despair she found a source of courage; and realizing at last the full extent of the perils which encompassed her, she felt that her only hope of escaping them was by craft and adroitness. If she alone were threatened with death, she would not fear it, but she wished to save the life of the being she carried within her. Mother-love has inspired many acts of heroism; it was that sentiment which sustained Sister Anne and gave her strength to endure her horrible situation.