"I have no heirs," replied Billet, with a dark cloud passing over his face.
"No heirs? How about heiresses, then? What do you call Miss Catherine?"
"I do not know anybody of that name, Pitou."
"Come, come, farmer, do not say such things; you make me sad."
"Pitou, from the time when something is mine, it is mine to give away; in the same way, should I die, what I leave to you will be yours, to deal with as you please, to be given away as freely."
"Ha! Good—yes," exclaimed the young man, who began to understand; "then, if anything bad happens to you—But how stupid I am; nothing bad could happen to you."
"You yourself said just now that we are all mortal."
"So I did; but—well, I do not know but that you are right. I take the will, Master Billet; but is it true that if I fall heir, I can do as I please with the property?"
"No doubt, since it will be yours. And, you understand, you are a sound patriot, Pitou; they will not stand you off from it, as they might folk who have connived with the aristocrats."
"It's a bargain," said Pitou, who was getting it into his brain; "I accept."