Ever since the murder of her lover, the elder Macquart, on the frontier, aunt Dide had cherished a bitter hatred against all gendarmes and custom-house officers, whom she mingled together in one common longing for vengeance.
"Why, it's the story of the poacher that she's telling us," he whispered.
But Pascal made a sign to him to keep quiet.

The stricken woman had raised herself with difficulty, and was looking round her, with a stupefied air.

She remained silent for a moment, endeavouring to recognise the various objects in the room, as though she were in some strange place.

Then, with a sudden expression of anxiety, she asked: "Where is the gun ?" The doctor put the carbine into her hands.

At this she raised a light cry of joy, and gazed at the weapon, saying in a soft, sing-song, girlish whisper: "That is it.