Throwing himself upright, the blacksmith flourishes his trembling fist, tries to hold it under the old priest's chin, and bawls, "You?
Shall I tell you how _you_ make me feel, eh?
Why----" Some young men seize him, hustle him and throw him down.

His head strikes the ground and he is at last immobile.

Father Piot raises his arms to heaven and kneels over the vanquished madman.

There are tears in the old man's eyes.
When we have made a few steps away I cannot help saying to Marie, with a sort of courage, that Brisbille is not wrong in all that he says.
Marie is shocked, and says, "Oh!" "There was a time," she says, reproachfully, "when you set about him!" I should like Marie to understand what I am wanting to say.

I explain to her, that although he may be a drunkard and a brute, he is right in what he thinks.