“Make haste!” said Tristan, “you shall laugh afterwards.”
In the meantime, the recluse had not uttered another word since Tristan had seen her daughter and all hope was lost. She had flung the poor gypsy, half dead, into the corner of the cellar, and had placed herself once more at the window with both hands resting on the angle of the sill like two claws. In this attitude she was seen to cast upon all those soldiers her glance which had become wild and frantic once more. At the moment when Rennet Cousin approached her cell, she showed him so savage a face that he shrank back.
“Monseigneur,” he said, returning to the provost, “which am I to take?”
“The young one.”
“So much the better, for the old one seemeth difficult.”
“Poor little dancer with the goat!” said the old sergeant of the watch.
Rennet Cousin approached the window again. The mother’s eyes made his own droop. He said with a good deal of timidity,—
“Madam”—
She interrupted him in a very low but furious voice,—
“What do you ask?”