Then the man murmured between his teeth:
"If you were a woman,—well, you would go this very evening to Mother Hurlot. She has herbs."
But the woman began to weep. And in her tears she groaned:
"Don’t say that; don’t say that! That brings bad luck." .
The man pounded the table, and cried:
"Must we, then, die, my God!"
The bad luck came. Four days later the woman had a miscarriage . . . a miscarriage? ... and died in the frightful pains of peritonitis.
And, when the man had finished his story, he said to me:
"So now here I am, all alone. No wife, no child, nothing. I really thought of revenging myself; yes, for a long time J thought of killing those three children that were playing on the lawn, although I am not wicked, J assure you. But that woman’s three children, I swear to you, I could have strangled with joy, with reaPjoy! Oh! yes. But then, I did not dare. What do you expect? We are afraid; we are cowards; we have courage only to suffer!"
