Twenty voices asked the question. Matheline, who had good eyes, and such beautiful ones, replied,—
"It looks like an axe.... Happy am I to be rid of those two, the mother and son! With them I could never laugh."
But there were two or three good souls who said in low tones,—
"Poor widow! her heart must be full of sorrow."
"But what does she want with that axe?"
"It is to defend her wolf," again replied Matheline, who carried a pitchfork.
Pol Bihan held an enormous hollow stick which resembled a club. Every one was armed either with threshing-flails or rakes or hoes; some even bore scythes, carried upright; for they had not only come to look on, but to make an end of the man-wolf.
Again was heard the chime of the matin-bells of the convent of Ruiz, and immediately a smothered cry ran from group to group,—
"Wolf! wolf! wolf!"
Josserande heard it, for she paused in her descent and cast an anxious look around; but, seeing no one, she raised her eyes to heaven and clasped her hands over the handle of her axe.