"Grandfather, mother and daughter, all of a piece!" said a spiteful
woman, as Sebastian Dolores passed her. The look he gave her was not the
same as that he had given to Palass Poucette's widow. If it had been
given by a Spanish inquisitor to a heretic, little hope would have
remained in the heretic's heart. Yet there was a sad patient look on his
face, as though he was a martyr. He had no wish to be a martyr; but he
had a feeling that for want of other means of expressing their sympathy
with Jean Jacques, these rough people might tar and feather him at least;
though it was only his misfortune that those sprung from his loins had
such adventurous spirits!
Sebastian Dolores was not without a real instinct regarding things. What
was in his mind was also passing through that of the river-driver and a
few of his friends, and they carefully watched the route he was taking.
Jean Jacques prepared to depart. He had ever loved to be the centre of a
picture, but here was a time when to be in the centre was torture.
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