The enormous farmer who, on account of his size, girth and stomach, felt a bond of sympathy for the representative of the Church, answered with a smile:
“Pretty well, Monsieur le cure, pretty well. And how are you?”
“Oh! I'm always well and healthy.”
“And you, Maitre Poiret?” asked the abbe.
“Oh! I'd be all right only the colzas ain't a-goin' to give much this year, and times are so hard that they are the only things worth while raisin'.”
“Well, what can you expect? Times are hard.”
“Hub! I should say they were hard,” sounded the rather virile voice of Rabot's big consort.
As she was from a neighboring village, the priest only knew her by name.
“Is that you, Blondel?” he said.
“Yes, I'm the one that married Rabot.”