“Cut the timber myself and sell it—”
“You, a wood merchant?” said Sibilet. “Well, without looking at matters here, how would it be in Paris? You would have to hire a wood-yard, pay for a license and the taxes, also for the right of navigation, and duties, and the costs of unloading; besides the salary of a trustworthy agent—”
“Yes, it is impracticable,” said the general hastily, alarmed at the prospect. “But why can’t I find persons to lease the right of cutting timber as before?”
“Monsieur le comte has enemies.”
“Who are they?”
“Well, in the first place, Monsieur Gaubertin.”
“Do you mean the scoundrel whose place you took?”
“Not so loud, Monsieur le comte,” said Sibilet, showing fear; “I beg of you, not so loud,—my cook might hear us.”
“Do you mean to tell me that I am not to speak on my own estate of a villain who robbed me?” cried the general.
“For the sake of your own peace and comfort, come further away, Monsieur le comte. Monsieur Gaubertin is mayor of Ville-aux-Fayes.”