“Oh, pooh!” said the widow.
“Besides, if poor people do not help each other, who will help them? Leave us, Madame Vauthier; I’ll blow the fire myself. Have the rest of my wood put in your cellar; I am sure you will take good care of it.”
Madame Vauthier disappeared, for Godefroid in telling her to take care of his wood had given an opportunity to her greed.
“Come in this way,” said Godefroid, offering chairs to both debtor and creditor.
The old man conversed standing, but the gardener sat down.
“My good Monsieur Cartier,” went on Godefroid, “rich people do not pay as regularly as you say they do, and you ought not to dun a worthy man for a few louis. Monsieur draws his pension every six months, and he could not make you an assignment of it for such a paltry sum. I am willing to advance the money, if you absolutely insist on having it.”
“Monsieur Bernard drew his pension two weeks ago, and has not paid me. I am sorry to trouble him, of course.”
“Have you furnished him with plants all along?”
“Yes, monsieur, for six years, and he has always paid me.”
Monsieur Bernard, who was listening to some sound in his own rooms and paying no attention to what was being said, now heard a cry through the partitions and hurried away without a word.