who must be tired, and
fume, and fret," remarked Calabash, with a savage smile, and pointing to
the window fastened up with the iron plates, "there is one there who
must be ready to devour his own flesh and blood."

"Bah! He's asleep. Since the morning he hasn't stirred, and his dog is
silent."

"Perhaps he has strangled him for food. For two days, they must both be
desperate hungry and thirsty up there together."

"That is their affair. Martial may still last a long time in this way,
if it amuses him. When it is done, why, we shall say he died of his
complaint, and there'll be an end of that affair."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course I do. As mother went to Asnieres this morning, she met Pere
Ferot, the fisherman, and, as he was very much astonished at not having
seen his friend Martial for the last two days, mother told him that
Martial was confined to his bed, and was so ill that his life was
despaired of. Daddy Ferot swallowed all, like so much honey; he'll tell
everybody else, and when the thing's done and over, why, it'll all seem
nat'ral enough."

"Yes, but he won't die directly; this way is a tedious one."

"What else is to be done? There was no way of doing otherwise. That
devil of a Martial, when he's put up, is as full of mischief as the old
one himself, and as strong as a bull; particularly when he suspects
anything, it is dangerous to approach him; but, now his door is well
nailed up on the outside, what can he do? His window is strongly
fastened with iron, too."

"Why, he might have driven out the bars by cutting away the plaster with
his knife, and he would have done it, only I got up the ladder, and
chopped at his fingers with the bill-hook every time he tried to go to
work."

"What a pleasant watch!" said the ruffian, with a chuckle; "it must have
been vastly amusing!"

"Why, it was to give you time to come with the iron plates you went to
get from Pere Micou."

"What a rage the dear brother must have been in!"

"He ground his teeth like a lunatic. Two or three times he tried to
drive me away from the iron bars with his stick, but then, as he had
only one hand at liberty, he could not work and release the iron bars,
which was what he was trying at."

"Fortunately, there's no fireplace in his room, and the door is solid,
and his hands finely cut; if not, he would work his way through the
floor."

"What! Through those heavy beams? No, no, there's no chance of his
escaping; the shutters