Kill him, kill him!... wolf! wolf!"

"Wolf! wolf!" repeated Matheline, who tried to drive off the old beggar
with her pitchfork. But the fork broke like glass in her hands as it
touched the poor man's tatters, and at the same time twenty voices
cried,--

"The wolf! the wolf! Where has the wolf gone?"

Soon it was seen where the wolf had gone. A black mass dashed through
the crowd, and Pol Bihan uttered a horrible cry,--

"Help! help! Matheline!"

You have often heard the noise made by a dog when crunching a bone. This
was the noise they heard, but louder, as though there were many dogs
crunching many bones. And a strange voice, like the growling of a wolf,
said,--

"The strength of a man is a dainty morsel for a wolf to eat. Bihan,
traitor, I eat your strength!"

The black mass again bounded through the terrified crowd, his bloody
tongue hanging from his mouth, his eyes darting fire.

This time it was from Matheline that a scream still more horrible than
that of Pol's was heard; and again there was the noise of another
terrible feast, and the voice of the wild beast, which had already
spoken, growled,--

"The pearls of a smile make a dainty morsel for a wolf to eat.
Matheline, serpent that stung my heart, seek for your beauty. I have
eaten it!"

XII.

The white-haired beggar had endeavored to protect Matheline against the
wolf, but he was very old, and his limbs would not move as quickly as
his heart. He only succeeded in throwing down the wolf. It fell at
Josserande's feet and licked her knees, uttering doleful moans. But the
people, who had come thither for entertainment, were not well pleased
with what had happened. There was now abundance of light, as men with
torches had arrived from the abbey in search of Gildas the Wise, whose
cell had been found empty at the hour of Compline.

The glare from the torches shone upon two hideous wounds made by the
wolf, who had devoured Matheline's beauty and Pol's strength,--that is
to say, the face of the one and the arms of the other--flesh and bones.
It was frightful to behold. The women wept while looking at the
repulsive, bleeding mass which had been Matheline's smiling face; the
men sought in the double bloody gaps some traces of Pol's arms, for the
powerful muscles, the glory of the athletic games; and every heart was
filled with wrath.

And the legend says that the tenant of Coat-Dor, Matheline's poor
father, knelt beside his daughter and felt around i