“You won’t help them in the vintage?” asked Jacques.
The vagabond looked almost repenting.
“To be sure, the vintage must have commenced,” he said.
“Well?”
“But that only lasts a fortnight, and then comes winter. And winter is no man’s friend: it’s my enemy. I know I have been without a place to lie down when it has been freezing to split stones, and the snow was a foot deep. Oh! here they have stoves, and the Board gives very warm clothes.”
“Yes; but there are no merry evenings here, Trumence, eh? None of those merry evenings, when the hot wine goes round, and you tell the girls all sorts of stories, while you are shelling peas, or shucking corn?”
“Oh! I know. I do enjoy those evenings. But the cold! Where should I go when I have not a cent?”
That was exactly where Jacques wanted to lead him.
“I have money,” he said.
“I know you have.”