"Keep quiet!"
The nape of her neck struck the wall; her heart was enveloped for
a second in the stifling smoke of terror; but it blazed forth again
clearly, dispelling the smoke.
"Go!" said the gendarme.
"Fear nothing! There are no tortures worse than those which you
endure all your lives!"
"Silence, I say!" The gendarme took her by the arm and pulled her;
another seized her by the other arm, and taking long steps, they
led her away.
"There are no tortures more bitter than those which quietly gnaw
at your heart every day, waste your breast, and drain your power."
The spy came running up, and shaking his fist in her face, shouted:
"Silence, you old hag!"
Her eyes widened, sparkled; her jaws quivered. Planting her feet
firmly on the slippery stones of the floor, she shouted, gathering
the last remnants of her strength:
"The resuscitated soul they will not kill."
"Dog!"
The spy struck her face with a short swing of his hand.
Something black and red blinded her eyes for a second. The salty
taste of blood filled her mouth.
A clear outburst of shouts animated her:
"Don't dare to beat her!"
"Boys!"
"What is it?"
"Oh, you scoundrel!"
"Give it to him!"
"They will not drown reason in blood; they will not extinguish its truth!"
She was pushed in the neck and the back, beaten about the shoulders,
on the head.
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