The unhappy woman felt that all depended on her keeping up her self-possession，and so，with death in her heart，she began to laugh at them.Mothers are capable of efforts such as this.
'Bah！'said she，'the man is drunk.'Tis more than a year since the back of a cart laden with stones ran against my window and burst the bars.I mind me well how I railed at the driver.'
'It's true，'said another archer，'I was there.'
There are always people to be found in all places who have seen everything.This unlooked-for testimony revived the spirits of the recluse，to whom this interrogatory was like crossing an abyss on the edge of a knife.
But she was doomed to a continual see-saw between hope and alarm.
'If a cart had done that，'resumed the first soldier，'the stumps of the bars must have been driven inward，whereas they have been forced outward.'
'Ha！ha！'said Tristan to the soldier，'thou hast the nose of a cross-examiner at the Chatelet！Answer what he says，old woman！'
'Mon Dieu！'she exclaimed，reduced to the last extremity，and bursting into tears in spite of herself；'I swear to you，my lord，that it was a cart that broke those bars：you hear that man say he saw it.Besides，what has that to do with your gipsy？'
'H'm！'growled Tristan.
'Diable！'continued the soldier，flattered by the provost's commendation；'the iron looks quite fresh broken.'
Tristan shook his head.Gudule turned pale.'How long is it，say you，since the affair of the cart？'
'A month；a fortnight may-be，my lord；I do not remember.'
'At first she said above a year！'remarked the soldier.
'That looks queer！'said the provost.
'Monseigneur！'she cried，still filling the window，and trembling lest suspicion should prompt them to put their heads through and look into the cell；'monseigneur，I swear to you that it was a cart that broke this grating.I swear it by all the holy angels in paradise.If it was not a cart，may I go to everlasting perdition and deny my God！'
'Thou art very urgent in that oath of thine！'said Tristan with his inquisitorial glance.
The poor creature felt her assurance ebbing fast away.She was ****** blunders，and had a terrible consciousness that she was not saying what she should have said.
Here another soldier came up，crying：'Monseigneur，the old wife lies.The witch cannot have got away by the Rue du Mouton，for the chain was across the street all night，and the watchman saw no one pass.'
'What hast thou to say to that？'asked Tristan，whose countenance grew every moment more forbidding.
She strove to offer a bold front to this fresh incident.'Why，monseigneur，I do not know；I must have made a mistake，I suppose.In fact，now I come to think of it，I believe she crossed the water.'
'That's at the opposite side of the Place，'said the provost.'And then it's not very likely that she should want to return to the city where they were ****** search for her.Thou liest，old woman！'
'Besides，'added the first soldier，'there's no boat either on this side or the other.'
'She will have swam across then，'said the recluse，fighting her ground inch by inch.
'Do women swim？'said the soldier.
'Tête-Dieu！old woman，thou liest，thou liest！'cried Tristan angrily.'I've a good mind to leave the witch and take thee instead.A little quarter of an hour's question would soon drag the truth out of thy old throat.Come！Thou shalt go along with us！'
She caught eagerly at these words.
'As you will，my lord；do as you say.The question！I am quite ready to submit to it.Carry me with you.Quick！let us go at once！—and meantime，'thought she，'my daughter can escape.'
'Mort-Dieu！'said the provost，'what a thirst for the rack！This crazy old wife's quite beyond my comprehension.'
A grizzled old sergeant of the watch now stepped out of the ranks and addressed the provost.'Crazy indeed，monseigneur！If she let the gipsy go，tis not her fault，for she has no love for gipsy women.For fifteen years I've held the watch here，and every night I hear her calling down curses without end on these Bohemian women.If the one we're looking for is，as I believe，the little dancer with the goat，she hated her beyond all the rest.'
Gudule gathered up her strength：
'Yes，her beyond all the rest，'she repeated.
The unanimous testimony of the men of the watch confirmed what the old sergeant had said.Tristan l'Hermite，despairing of getting anything out of the recluse，turned his back on her，and，with irrepressible anxiety，she saw him slowly return to his horse.
'Come！'he growled between his teeth.'Forward！we must continue the search.I will not sleep till the gipsy has been hanged.'
Nevertheless，he lingered a moment before mounting.Gudule hung between life and death as she saw him scanning the Place with the restless look of the hound that instinctively feels himself near the lair of his quarry，and is reluctant to go away.At last he shook his head，and sprang into the saddle.
Gudule's heart，so horribly contracted，now expanded，and she whispered，with a glance towards her daughter，whom she had not ventured to look at since the arrival of her pursuers，'Saved！'
All this time the poor child had remained in her corner，without breathing，without moving a muscle，death staring her in the face.She had lost no word of the scene between Gudule and Tristan，and each pang of her mother's had echoed in her own heart.She had heard each successive crack of the thread that held her suspended over the abyss，and twenty times she thought to see it snap.Only now did she begin to take breath and feel the ground steady under her feet.
At this moment she heard a voice call to the provost：'Cor f！Monsieur the Provost，it's none of my business as a man-at-arms to hang witches.The rabble populace is put down；I leave you to do your own work alone.You will permit me to return to my company，who are meanwhile without a captain.'