hours a day, and all died under their punishment; their prison, too, was a frightful place, the horrors of which he described minutely.  Miette listened to him, stupefied, her eyes full of tears.  Sometimes she was roused to sudden violence, and Justin quickly retired before her clenched fists.  However, he took a savage delight in thus instructing her as to the nature of prison life.  When his father flew into a passion with the child for any little negligence, he chimed in, glad to be able to insult her without danger.  And if she attempted to defend herself, he would exclaim:  “Bah! bad blood always shows itself.  You’ll end at the galleys like your father.”

At this Miette sobbed, stung to the heart, powerless and overwhelmed with shame.

She was already growing to womanhood at this period.  Of precocious nature, she endured her martyrdom with extraordinary fortitude.  She rarely gave way, excepting when her natural pride succumbed to her cousin’s outrages.  Soon even, she was able to bear, without a tear, the incessant insults of this cowardly fellow, who ever watched her while he spoke, for fear lest she should fly at his face.  Then, too, she learnt to silence him by staring at him fixedly.  She had several times felt inclined to run away from the Jas-Meiffren; but she did not do so, as her courage could not brook the idea of confessing that she was vanquished by the persecution she endured.  She certainly earned her bread, she did not steal the Rebufats’ hospitality; and this conviction satisfied her pride.  So she remained there to continue the struggle, stiffening herself and living on with the one thought of resistance.  Her plan was to do her work in silence, and revenge herself for all harsh treatment by mute contempt.  She knew that her uncle derived too much advantage from her to listen readily to the insinuations of Justin, who longed to get her turned out of doors.  And in a defiant spirit she resolved that she would not go away of her own accord.

Her continuous voluntary silence was full of strange fancies.  Passing her days in the enclosure, isolated from all the world, she formed ideas for herself which would have strangely shocked the good people of the Faubourg.  Her father’s fate particularly occupied her thoughts.  All Justin’s abuse recurred to her; and she ended by accepting the charge of murder, saying to herself, however, that her father had done well to kill the gendarme who had tried to kill him.  She had learnt the real story from a labourer who had worked for a time at the Jas-Meiffren.  From that moment, on the few occasions when she went out, she no longer even turned if the ragamuffins of the Faubourg followed her, crying:  “Hey!  La Chantegreil!”