"Well, I'll go as far as four, or even five francs," continued Courtin; "and you will have the chance to do a service to your neighbor, which counts for something, doesn't it?"
"Come," said the fisherman, "don't beat round the bush; what do you want of me?"
"I want you to take me on board your schooner, the 'Jeune Charles,' the masts of which I see over there beyond the trees."
"The 'Jeune Charles,'" said the sailor, reflectively, "what's the 'Jeune Charles'?"
"Here," said Maître Courtin, giving the fisherman an oil-skin hat he had picked up on the shore, on which appeared the words, in gilt letters: "LE JEUNE CHARLES."
"Well, I admit you must be a fisherman, my friend," said the sailor. "The devil take me if your eyes are not in your fingers, like mine; otherwise you never could have read that in the darkness! Now, then, what have you to do with the 'Jeune Charles'?"
"Didn't I mention something just now that struck your ear?"
"My good man," said the fisherman, "I'm like a well-bred dog; I don't yelp when bitten. Heave your own log and don't trouble yourself about my keel."
"Well, I am Madame la Baronne de la Logerie's farmer."
"What of it?"