Was I then， Lord， so miserable a creature， that you could not look at me before condemning me？--Alas！ Alas！ here is the shoe； where is the foot？ where is the rest？ Where is the child？ My daughter！ my daughter！ what did they do with thee？ Lord， give her back to me. My knees have been worn for fifteen years in praying to thee， my God！ Is not that enough？ Give her back to me one day， one hour， one minute； one minute， Lord！ and then cast me to the demon for all eternity！ Oh！ if I only knew where the skirt of your garment trails， I would cling to it with both hands， and you would be obliged to give me back my child！ Have you no pity on her pretty little shoe？ Could you condemn a poor mother to this torture for fifteen years？ Good Virgin！ good Virgin of heaven！ my infant Jesus has been taken from me， has been stolen from me； they devoured her on a heath， they drank her blood， they cracked her bones！ Good Virgin， have pity upon me. My daughter， I want my daughter！ What is it to me that she is in paradise？ I do not want your angel， Iwant my child！ I am a lioness， I want my whelp. Oh！ I will writhe on the earth， I will break the stones with my forehead， and I will damn myself， and I will curse you， Lord， if you keep my child from me！ you see plainly that my arms are all bitten， Lord！ Has the good God no mercy？--Oh！ give me only salt and black bread， only let me have my daughter to warm me like a sun！ Alas！ Lord my God. Alas！ Lord my God， I am only a vile sinner； but my daughter made me pious.
I was full of religion for the love of her， and I beheld you through her smile as through an opening into heaven. Oh！ if I could only once， just once more， a single time， put this shoe on her pretty little pink foot， I would die blessing you， good Virgin. Ah！ fifteen years！ she will be grown up now！
--Unhappy child！ what！ it is really true then I shall never see her more， not even in heaven， for I shall not go there myself. Oh！ what misery to think that here is her shoe， and that that is all！"The unhappy woman flung herself upon that shoe； her consolation and her despair for so many years， and her vitals were rent with sobs as on the first day； because， for a mother who has lost her child， it is always the first day. That grief never grows old. The mourning garments may grow white and threadbare， the heart remains dark.
At that moment， the fresh and joyous cries of children passed in front of the cell. Every time that children crossed her vision or struck her ear， the poor mother flung herself into the darkest corner of her sepulchre， and one would have said， that she sought to plunge her head into the stone in order not to hear them. This time， on the contrary， she drew herself upright with a start， and listened eagerly. One of the little boys had just said，--"They are going to hang a gypsy to-day."
With the abrupt leap of that spider which we have seen fling itself upon a fly at the trembling of its web， she rushed to her air-hole， which opened as the reader knows， on the Place de Grève. A ladder had， in fact， been raised up against the permanent gibbet， and the hangman's assistant was busying himself with adjusting the chains which had been rusted by the rain. There were some people standing about.
The laughing group of children was already far away. The sacked nun sought with her eyes some passer-by whom she might question. All at once， beside her cell， she perceived a priest making a pretext of reading the public breviary， but who was much less occupied with the "lectern of latticed iron，" than with the gallows， toward which he cast a fierce and gloomy glance from time to time. She recognized monsieur the archdeacon of Josas， a holy man.
"Father，" she inquired， "whom are they about to hang yonder？"The priest looked at her and made no reply； she repeated her question. Then he said，--"I know not."
"Some children said that it was a gypsy，" went on the recluse.
"I believe so，" said the priest.
Then Paquette la Chantefleurie burst into hyena-like laughter.
"Sister，" said the archdeacon， "do you then hate the gypsies heartily？""Do I hate them！" exclaimed the recluse， " they are vampires， stealers of children！ They devoured my little daughter， my child， my only child！ I have no longer any heart， they devoured it！"She was frightful. The priest looked at her coldly.
"There is one in particular whom I hate， and whom I have cursed，" she resumed； "it is a young one， of the age which my daughter would be if her mother had not eaten my daughter.
Every time that that young viper passes in front of my cell， she sets my blood in a ferment.""Well， sister， rejoice，" said the priest， icy as a sepulchral statue； "that is the one whom you are about to see die."His head fell upon his bosom and he moved slowly away.
The recluse writhed her arms with joy.
"I predicted it for her， that she would ascend thither！
Thanks， priest！" she cried.
And she began to pace up and down with long strides before the grating of her window， her hair dishevelled， her eyes flashing， with her shoulder striking against the wall， with the wild air of a female wolf in a cage， who has long been famished， and who feels the hour for her repast drawing near.
