"Since when have beggars been allowed to preach sermons? Ah! if it were
not for my stiff leg.... Kill him, kill him!... wolf! wolf!"
"Wolf! wolf!" repeated Matheline, who tried to drive off the old beggar
with her pitchfork. But the fork broke like glass in her hands as it
touched the poor man's tatters, and at the same time twenty voices
cried,--
"The wolf! the wolf! Where has the wolf gone?"
Soon it was seen where the wolf had gone. A black mass dashed through
the crowd, and Pol Bihan uttered a horrible cry,--
"Help! help! Matheline!"
You have often heard the noise made by a dog when crunching a bone. This
was the noise they heard, but louder, as though there were many dogs
crunching many bones. And a strange voice, like the growling of a wolf,
said,--
"The strength of a man is a dainty morsel for a wolf to eat. Bihan,
traitor, I eat your strength!"
The black mass again bounded through the terrified crowd, his bloody
tongue hanging from his mouth, his eyes darting fire.
This time it was from Matheline that a scream still more horrible than
that of Pol's was heard; and again there was the noise of another
terrible feast, and the voice of the wild beast, which had already
spoken, growled,--
"The pearls of a smile make a dainty morsel for a wolf to eat.
Matheline, serpent that stung my heart, seek for your beauty. I have
eaten it!"