“Stop it, do! You say things over and over again, like a clock, Nibet!... Since I’ve told you yes – yes it is – there now, and be hanged to you!... You don’t by chance fancy the Beadle has been made a mouthful of, do you?” Roars of laughter greeted this. Nibet was not one of the inner circle; he was not much of a favourite in the band of Numbers. It is true that they reckoned him a comrade, useful, faithful, that they felt safe with him; but they bore him a grudge because of his regular employment, because of his position, because he was an official... And, first and last, his warder’s uniform brought back unpleasant memories for the jail birds.

But Nibet was not the man to allow himself to be intimidated.

“All the same,” said he, “I ask where the three of them have got to?... If they know the mushroom bed, they should have been back long ago!” He shouted to an old woman. “Eh, Toulouche, tell us the time!” But Mother Toulouche shook her head.

“I haven’t a watch!”

There was a murmur of protestation. The seven or eight hooligans assembled there awaiting the return of the Beard and the Beadle, sent with Emilet to kidnap Jules, could not believe that Mother Toulouche had told the truth.

The Sailor caught the old woman by the shoulders and shook her, and went on shaking her.

“Liar! Aren’t you ashamed to be in a funk with us?...

Ever since this blessed Mother Toulouche has sold winkles and many other things, ever since she began to make a little purse for herself, which must be a big purse by now, a purse everyone here has sweated to fill to the brim, she has always distrusted us!... You say you haven’t a watch! I tell you, you’ve got dozens of ’em! Fish in a barrel!” Big Ernestine interrupted.

“It’s a hall-hour over the time agreed.”

A shudder ran through the assembly: Nibet, finger on lip, made a sign that they were to listen.

Then, in the mushroom bed, no longer in use, which the band of Numbers had recently adopted as their meeting place, a profound silence fell.

“There they are!” said Nibet.

Big Ernestine leaped up, left the fire, advanced to the far end of the cellar, and imitated the cry of a screech owl to perfection. There was a similar cry in response.

“It’s all right. They’re here!” she said. She returned to the fire and sat down. But Nibet seized the girl and forced her to get up again.

“Go along with you! Quick march!” he said roughly.

She protested. Nibet stopped her.

“Oh, we can’t stand listening to you!... Ho there, Sailor!... Come here!... Sit down on this plank! You, the Beadle, and me – we’re to be the judges. Beard makes the accusation: and, if her heart tells her to, Ernestine will defend him.”