"Twenty francs? But I never asked for anything; I don't want anything;
I have my pension."
His pension! Seven hundred francs!
"But listen; it will be something to buy you cigars. It comes from
America."
And then followed the Abbe's little speech about the masters of
Longueval.
He went to a poor woman whose son had gone to Tunis.
"Well, how is your son getting on?"
"Not so bad, Monsieur le Cure; I had a letter from him yesterday. He does not complain; he is very well; only he says there are no Kroomirs. Poor boy! I have been saving for a month, and I think I shall soon be able to send him ten francs."
"You shall send him thirty francs. Take this."
"Thirty francs! Monsieur le Cure, you give me thirty francs?"
"Yes, that is for you."