hile these things were going on at "Les Marches," a great change had come over Frank's life.
His father was one day descending a ladder, when one of the rounds of the latter broke and his body received a nasty jerk. He placed his hand on his heart and muttered. "I have felt something, I have felt something here." Two days afterwards he died from internal hemorrhage.
So Frank was left to live with his step-mother.
He had now a little money and was considering how he should lay it out. Finally, he decided to build one or two greenhouses. But he wanted some land upon which to build them, and this he did not possess.
There was a field situated behind his garden which belonged to a Mr. Fallon. "This field would exactly suit me," he said to himself, "I must try to buy it."
Accordingly, he set out towards "La Chaumière"—this was the name of Mr. Fallon's residence. When he arrived there, he saw the farmer coming out of his stable and at once asked him if his field was for sale. Now, Mr. Fallon thought himself too much of a business man to answer either "Yes" or "No." "I do not think," he said, "but I can't tell. I must mention it to my wife and think over it, for it's a serious thing to sell one's property."
Frank nodded.
Would he call the next evening? the man asked.