The old man listened, with an air of deferential politeness.
"Why, your reverence, what do you expect me to do, if Buteau holds out? And, besides, the lad's right, so far as that goes; he can't marry at his age on nothing."
"But there's a baby!"
"To be sure there is. Only the baby's not yet born, and one can never tell. That's just where it is: a baby's not an encouraging thing when you can't afford a shift for its back."
He made these remarks sagely, as became an old man who knew life. Then he added, in the same measured tone:
"Besides, an arrangement may, perhaps, be made. I am dividing my property. The lots will be drawn for presently, after mass. Then, when Buteau gets his share, he will, I hope, see about marrying his cousin."
"Good!" said the priest. "That's enough. Fouan, I rely upon you."
The pealing of a bell curtailed his speech, and he asked, apprehensively:
"That's the second bell, isn't it?"
"No, your reverence, the third."