“You want me to sell you Charlot? Oh, no, that's not the sort of thing to ask of a mother! Oh, no! That would be an abomination!”
The man, grave and deliberate, said nothing; but approved of what his wife said by a continued nodding of his head.
Madame d'Hubieres, in dismay, began to weep; turning to her husband, with a voice full of tears, the voice of a child used to having all its wishes gratified, she stammered:
“They will not do it, Henri, they will not do it.”
Then he made a last attempt: “But, my friends, think of the child's future, of his happiness, of—”
The peasant woman, however, exasperated, cut him short:
“It's all considered! It's all understood! Get out of here, and don't let me see you again—the idea of wanting to take away a child like that!”
Madame d'Hubieres remembered that there were two children, quite little, and she asked, through her tears, with the tenacity of a wilful and spoiled woman:
“But is the other little one not yours?”
Father Tuvache answered: “No, it is our neighbors'. You can go to them if you wish.” And he went back into his house, whence resounded the indignant voice of his wife.