“I think,” said the corporal, “that a rope did go over my face.”
“I have it!” cried Corentin; “somebody tied a rope from tree to tree to bar the way.”
“Like enough,” replied the corporal.
Corentin went downstairs to the kitchen.
“Come, you old rascal,” Michu was saying to Violette, “let’s make an end of this. One hundred thousand francs for the place, and you are master of my whole property. I shall retire on my income.”
“I tell you, as there’s a God in heaven, I haven’t more than sixty thousand.”
“But don’t I offer you time to pay the rest? You’ve kept me here since yesterday, arguing it. The land is in prime order.”
“Yes, the soil is good,” said Violette.
“Wife, some more wine,” cried Michu.
“Haven’t you drunk enough?” called down Marthe’s mother. “This is the fourteenth bottle since nine o’clock yesterday.”