“Send them away.”
“Ah, that would be very imprudent! Better have patience, and try to come to an understanding. These men are from the Wallon district, and when they have drunk one glass of brandy too many you may fear anything at their hands. It was one of these Belgians who struck the overseer with a knife last year. They are good workmen, but terribly exacting and disagreeable. There is nothing to fear for the present. They want an eye keeping on them. Now, if you would like to call them together and speak to them, you will see what you can make of the matter.”
He spoke in sneering tones. Marcel well understood that the manager, speaking from experience, was thinking: Have a little experience of these brutes, my young novice, and you will learn to know them. Speak to them nicely, explaining that it is to their advantage to work without grumbling, so that you may have a fine profit at the year’s end, whilst they have had the greatest difficulty to make ends meet. Try to obtain their approval. Afterwards, come and tell me what result you have obtained. Unless you give them the works, and capital to keep it going, perhaps even guaranteeing them dividends, you will never make them satisfied!
Marcel would not discuss any longer with Cardez. He did not consider it necessary to weaken the authority of the manager at such a critical moment. He determined to give him all possible help to avoid the difficulties he foresaw.
“You may be sure, M. Cardez, that if I can do anything to help you, you have only to mention it. It is possible we may not have the same ideas on the way of settling Labour difficulties. Still, it is of no use waiting till the house is on fire before discussing the fire-brigade system by which the conflagration may most surely be extinguished. The best thing to do is to use the means nearest at hand. Consequently, do as you think best. Have you informed my father of the matter?”
“No; indeed, I am not in the habit of tormenting my masters with an account of the difficulties of the works here. There will be plenty of time, in case things become more serious.”
“Very good; we will wait.”
At that hour the Count Cesare Agostini reached the Villa de la Cavée, and after traversing the garden he entered a small salon on the ground floor, where the young lady, in mourning, lolling on an easy-chair, was lazily reading a novel. The setting sun, entering through the window, shed his golden rays on the reader’s face. She was no longer the melancholy and timid widow Marcel had met in the woods. Her hair, thrown back on to her forehead, gave her delicate profile a look of audacious pride. On hearing Cesare enter the room, she flung down her book, rose eagerly to her feet, and, in joyous tones, said—
“Well, caro mio, you are back at last! Are you satisfied with your mission?”
“As far as one can be. I have seen your pigeon. He actually holds out the wing, without being asked. You will obtain no merit in plucking such a confiding youth, Sophia.”