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