"A widower, monsieur," sighed Jean, "and a son killed in the field."
"Whereas, if you use up your salary every week," said the elder Cardonnet, unmoved, "you will waste it, and at the end of the year you will have built nothing and saved nothing."
"You take too much interest in me; what difference does that make to you?"
"It makes this difference, that my work, being constantly interrupted, will progress slowly, that I shall never have you at hand, and that, two years hence, when you come and offer to work longer for me, I shall not need you any longer. I shall have been compelled to give your place to some one else."
"There will always be work to be done keeping the plant in order. Do you think I mean to cheat you out of your money?"
"No, but I should prefer being cheated to being delayed."
"Ah! what a hurry you are in to enjoy your prosperity! Well! give me one day a week and let me have my own tools."
"He seems to think a great deal of this day of freedom, father," said Emile; "let him have it."
"I will let him have Sunday."
"And I accept it only as a day of rest," said Jean, indignantly; "do you take me for a pagan? I don't work on Sunday, monsieur; that would bring me ill-luck, and I should do bad work for both you and myself."