“But he has an angel beside him, the most heavenly young girl—”
“Yes, that little Ursule—Well, and then?”
The poor curé dared not continue upon hearing that “Well,—and then?” the dryness and asperity of which decided beforehand the proposition that he wished to make.
“I believe doctor Minoret to be extremely rich—”
“All the better for him.”
“You have very indirectly caused your son’s present misfortunes by not giving him any career, take care of the future!” said the curé severely. “Am I to announce your visit to your neighbor?”
“But why, knowing that I want him, should he not come here?”
“Ah! madame! by going to him, you will pay three per cent, and, if he comes to you, you will pay five,” said the curé, who hit upon this good reason in order to decide the old lady, “and, if you were forced to sell your farm through Dionis the notary, or through Massin the clerk, who would refuse you cash in the hope of profiting by your misfortune, you would lose half the value of the Bordières. I have not the least influence over the Dionis, the Massins, and the Levraults, rich men of the district who covet your farm and know that your son is in prison.”
“They know it! they know it!” she cried, raising her arms.—“Oh! my poor curé, you have let your coffee grow cold—Tiennette! Tiennette!”
Tiennette, an old Bretonne in a Breton jacket and
