"Oh, pity me! Pity me!" sobbed the terrified Jew.
"One hundred livres—not a denier under, not a denier over," answered the girl. "See, in the Devil's Table are ten saucers; put ten livres into each, and you, Amanieu, and you, Roger, count. Jew, when the last coin is paid, you shall go on with the rest. You do not stir till the sum is paid that I require."
The Jew faltered, trembled, stuttered some unintelligible words.
"Levi!" said Noémi, "you know how Guillem's men deal with the refractory. Ho! a string here for his thumbs."
The ten cups were filled.
CHAPTER IX.
A SINGED GLOVE.
A commotion, suppressed in outward manifestation, agitated Ste. Soure. Very little work was being done in the fields and vineyards. What work was done had little reference to agriculture.