was she sufficiently certain of the friendship of those people that she could be sure they would not sacrifice her to the general safety, she who was cause that they were menaced all with such misfortune?  No, she would say nothing to anyone; she would rely on her own efforts to extricate herself from the peril she had incurred by braving that bad man.  But what scheme could she devise; mon Dieu! how could she avert the threatened evil, for her upright nature revolted; she could never have forgiven herself had she been the instrument of bringing disaster to so many people, to Jean in particular, who had always been so good to Charlot.

The hours passed, one by one; the next day’s sun went down, and still she had decided upon nothing.  She went about her household duties as usual, sweeping the kitchen, attending to the cows, making the soup.  No word fell from her lips, and rising ever amid the ominous silence she preserved, her hatred of Goliah grew with every hour and impregnated her nature with its poison.  He had been her curse; had it not been for him she would have waited for Honore, and Honore would be living now, and she would be happy.  Think of his tone and manner when he made her understand he was the master!  He had told her the truth, moreover; there were no longer gendarmes or judges to whom she could apply for protection; might made right.  Oh, to be the stronger! to seize and overpower him when he came, he who talked of seizing others!  All she considered was the child, flesh of her flesh; the chance-met father was naught, never had been aught, to her.  She had no particle of wifely feeling toward him, only a sentiment of concentrated rage, the deep-seated hatred of the vanquished for the victor, when she thought of him.  Rather than surrender the child to him she would have killed it, and killed herself afterward.  And as she had told him, the child he had left her as a gift of hate she would have wished were already grown and capable of defending her; she looked into the future and beheld him with a musket, slaughtering hecatombs of Prussians.  Ah, yes! one Frenchman more to assist in wreaking vengeance on the hereditary foe!

There was but one day remaining, however; she could not afford to waste more time in arriving at a decision.  At the very outset, indeed, a hideous project had presented itself among the whirling thoughts that filled her poor, disordered mind:  to notify the francs-tireurs, to give Sambuc the information he desired so eagerly; but the idea had not then assumed definite form and shape, and she had put it from her as too atrocious, not suffering herself even to consider it:  was not that man the father of her child? she could not be accessory to his murder.  Then the thought returned, and kept returning at more frequently recurring intervals, little by little forcing itself upon her and enfolding her in its unholy influence; and now it had entire possession of her, holding her captive by the strength of its simple and unanswerable