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hen. Without, the wind still moaned and dashed about the sign in front of the house. This dismal creaking, and the dull boiling of a pot placed over the fire, were the only sounds that were heard. The two children observed, with secret fright, that their mother did not speak. Although she was habitually taciturn, this complete silence, and a certain drawing in of the lips, announced to them that the widow was in what they called her white passion, that is to say, was a prey to concentrated irritation. The fire was going out for want of fuel. "Francois, a log," said Calabash. The young mender of forbidden nets looked into a nook beside the chimney, and replied: "There are no more there." "Then go to the wood-pile," said Calabash. Francois murmured some unintelligible words, but did not stir. "Do you hear me, Francois?" inquired Calabash, harshly. The felon's widow laid on her knees a towel she was also unmarking, and looked at her son. He had lowered his head, but he guessed he felt, if we may use the expression, the fierce look his mother cast upon him, and, fearful of encountering her dreaded countenance, the boy remained without stirring. "I say, are you deaf, Francois?" said Calabash, in an irritated tone. "Mother, you see!" The tall sister seemed to be happy in finding fault with the two children, and to seek for them the punishment which the widow pitilessly inflicted. Amandine, without being observed, gently touched her brother's elbow, to make him quietly do what Calabash desired. Francois did not stir. The elder sister still looked at her mother as demanding the punishment of the offender, and the widow understood her. With her long lean finger she pointed to a stick of stout and pliant willow placed in a recess near the chimney. Calabash stooped forward, took up this staff of chastisement, and handed it to her mother. Francois had seen his mother's gesture, and, rising suddenly, sprung out of the reach of the threatening stick. "Do you want mother to break your back?" exclaimed Calabash. The widow, still holding the willow stick in her hand, pinching her pale lips together more and more, looked at Francois with a fixed eye, but without uttering a syllable. By the slight tremor of Amandine's hands, with her head bent downwards, and the redness which suddenly overspread her neck, it was easy to see that the child, although habituated to such scenes, was alarmed at the fate that threaten
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