"How do I know that you will give me a 'mag' when once the thing's done?
Why!--I"--said the ruffian, in a tone of gloomy distrust.

"Why, if I like, I need not give you a dump, that's true enough; for you
are on my gridiron, my lad, as I once had the Goualeuse; and so I will
broil you to my own taste, till the 'old one' gets the cooking of my
darling--ha! ha! ha! What, still sulky with your Chouette?" added the
horrible woman, patting the shoulder of the ruffian, who stood mute and
motionless.

"You are right," said he, with a sigh of concentrated rage; "it is my
fate--mine--mine! At the mercy of a woman and child whom but lately I
could have killed with a blow. Oh, if I were not afraid of dying!" said
he, falling back against the bank.

"What! a coward!--you--you a coward!" said the Chouette, contemptuously.
"Why, you'll be talking next of your conscience! What a precious farce!
Well, if you haven't more pluck than that, I'll 'cut' and leave you."

"And that I cannot have my revenge of the man who in thus making a
martyr of me has reduced me to the wretched situation in which I am!"
screamed the Schoolmaster, in a renewal of fury. "I am afraid of
death--yes, I own it, I am afraid. But if I were told, 'This man Rodolph
is between your arms--your two arms--and now you shall both be flung
into a pit,' I would say, 'Throw us, then, at once.' Yes, for then I
should be safe not to relax my clutch, till we both reached the bottom
together. I would fix my teeth in his face--his throat--his heart. I
would tear him to pieces with my teeth--yes, my teeth; for I should be
jealous of a knife!"

"Bravo, _fourline_! now you are my own dear love again. Calm yourself.
We will find him again, that wretch of a Rodolph, and the Chourineur
too. Come, pluck up, old man; we will yet work our will on them both. I
say it, on both!"

"Well, then, you will not forsake me?" cried the brigand to the Chouette
in a subdued tone, mingled, however, with distrust. "If you do leave me,
what will become of me?"

"That's true. I say, _fourline_, what a joke if Tortillard and I were to
'mizzle' with the 'drag,' and leave you where you are--in the middle of
the fields; and the night air begins to nip very sharp. I say, it would
be a joke, old cutpurse, wouldn't it?"

At this threat the Schoolmaster shuddered, and, coming towards the
Chouette, said tremulously, "No, no, you wouldn't do that, Chouette; nor
you, Tortillard. It would be too bad, wouldn