A one-armed man with a shaggy beard was sorting out rags and throwing them into the baskets around him.
"Don't step on my dogs," he cried; "come nearer."
She did as she was told.
"Are you the owner of the Guillot Field?" she asked.
"That's me!" replied the man.
In a few words she told him what she wanted. So as not to waste his time while listening, he poured some red wine out of a bottle that stood on the ground and drank it down at a gulp.
"It can be arranged if you pay in advance," he said, sizing her up.
"How much?" she asked.
"Forty sous a week for the wagon and twenty for the donkey," he replied.
"That's a lot of money," she said, hesitatingly.