“But that’s absurd,” exclaimed M. d’Escorval. “People can scarcely earn their daily bread in this way!”
“You are wrong, sir. I have considered the subject carefully; the profits are thirty per cent. And besides, there will be three of us to sell the goods, for I shall confide one pack to my son, and another to Chanlouineau.”
“What! Chanlouineau?”
“He has become my partner in the enterprise.”
“And his farm—who will take care of that?”
“He will employ day labourers.” And then, as if wishing to make M. d’Escorval understand that his visit had lasted quite long enough, Lacheneur began arranging such of the little packages as were intended for his own pack.
But the baron was not to be got rid of so easily, especially now that his suspicions had almost ripened into certainty. “I must speak with you alone,” he said in a curt tone.
M. Lacheneur turned round. “I am very busy,” he replied with evident reluctance of manner.
“I only ask for five minutes. But if you haven’t the time to spare to-day, I can return to-morrow—the day after to-morrow—or any day when I can see you in private.”
Lacheneur saw plainly that it would be impossible to escape this interview, so with a gesture of a man who resigns himself to a necessity, he bade his son and Chanlouineau withdraw.