“What does that person intend to do there?”
“He seems to be engaged in breaking stones,” said Marcel. “Most likely a journeyman who will be working on the road for some time.”
“Will he stay here long?”
“A few days, perhaps.”
“He has a villainous-looking face. Is there nothing to fear from such people?”
“Nothing whatever, except the sound of their hammers breaking the stones. But you will not hear that from the house.”
Madame Vignola did not appear to be quite satisfied by what Marcel said. A look of anxiety shaded her brow.
“If the presence of this poor fellow disturbs you so much,” said the young man, “would you like me to request the authorities to have him removed? He will be sent to work a few hundred yards away. I have sufficient influence to obtain this change.”
“Do nothing of the kind. I shall get accustomed to his presence. After all, he has his living to earn.”
She held out her hand to Marcel, with a smile. Holding it for a moment within his own, he said, softly—“You are not angry with me?”