"His money."
"His money? We have not had it six months, and the loan was for three years."
"It is the interest that he wants, my mother, the half-yearly interest."
"Well, that is not much, a matter of sixty dollars or so. We will pay him."
"Yes, we will pay him, of course, but we shall not have much left."
"Nonsense, Jean! We shall have still a nice little deposit in the bank; the tourists owe us a good sum; and to-morrow we shall send butter and eggs to the market--five dollars worth at the very least. No, there is no cause for worry. The business is going well. It will come out all right, with the help of the good God. Have courage, my son. The time of sowing will soon be over, and you will see the golden harvest, the fruit of all your planning, your work. If that is all--no!"
"He wishes to buy a husband for his daughter."
"For his daughter--for Blanchette? Yes, I know. All the rest are married--long ago. Only the little Blanchette is left. Not so very little now, nor so very young. Let us see--ten, twenty, twenty-five, yes, twenty-six years this summer. I remember well--fourteen years after we came to the parish. They were sufficiently poor then, those Laroches, poor and not at all proud. But they are not so very proud even now, although quite rich. And the little Blanchette was pretty, too, before the smallpox. A clever girl, and excellent housekeeper, a manager from the bottom, a worker, too. No, it is not a bad suggestion, not at all.
"Yes, she would be a fine partner for one who owns a hotel. No fear of failure after that. All anxiety gone, all concern for the future. The dowry would be considerable. She would have that fine farm, with cattle, horses, pigs, sheep, implements, furniture, linen, and all that, not to speak of money in the bank. Bonhomme Laroche has explained it to me many times. A strange man, that. A miser, true, but a just miser. He will have his money always, to the last sou, but no more. I hope that we may be able to pay him all, when due. There are great risks in an enterprise like this, and great responsibilities. The alliance would settle everything, remove all difficulties, dispel all clouds. Think of it, Jean. The two farms united--a veritable estate, a seigniory, almost. Ah, my son, if your father were alive, how pleased he would be!"
"My father," said Jean, thinking aloud, "would he have sold himself in this way, I wonder?"