n the blood for the
scattered pearls, which were now as red as holly-berries.

"Alas!" said he, "of these dead, stained things, which when living were
so beautiful, which were admired and envied and loved, I was so proud
and happy."

Alas! indeed, alas! Perhaps it was not the girl's fault that her heart
was no larger than a little bird's; and yet for this defect was not
Matheline cruelly punished?

"Death to the wolf! death to the wolf! death to the wolf!"

From all sides was this cry heard, and brandishing pitchforks, cudgels,
ploughshares, and mallets, came rushing the people towards the wolf, who
still lay panting, with open jaws and pendent tongue, at the feet of
Dame Josserande.

Around them the torch-bearers formed a circle: not to throw light upon
the wolf and Dame Josserande, but to render homage to the white-haired
beggar, in whom, as though the scales had suddenly fallen from their
eyes, every one recognized the Grand Abbot of Ruiz, Gildas the Wise.

The grand abbot raised his hand, and the armed crowd's eager advance was
checked, as if their feet had been nailed to the ground. Calmly he
surveyed them, blessed them, and said,--

"Christians, the wolf did wrong to punish, for chastisement belongs to
God alone; therefore the wolf's fault should not be punished by you. In
whom resides the power of God? In the holy authority of fathers and
mothers. So here is my penitent Josserande, who will rightfully judge
the wolf and punish him; she is his mother."

When Gildas the Wise ceased speaking, you could have heard a mouse run
across the heath. Each one thought to himself: "So the wolf is really
Sylvestre Ker." But not a word was uttered, and all looked at Dame
Josserande's axe, which glistened in the moonlight.

Josserande's heart sank within her, and she murmured,--

"My beloved one, my beloved one, whom I have borne in my arms and
nourished with my milk,--ah! me, can the Lord God inflict this cruel
martyrdom upon me?"

No one replied, not even Gildas the Wise, who silently adjured the
All-Powerful, and recalled to Him the sacrifice of Abraham.

Josserande raised her axe, but she had the misfortune to look at the
wolf, who fixed his eyes, full of tears, upon her, and the axe fell from
her hands.

It was the wolf who picked it up, and when he gave it back to her, he
said,--

"I weep for you, my mother."

"Strike!" cried the crowd; for what remained of Pol and Matheline
uttered terrible groans. "St