"You're fools, you damned scoundrels! You don't understand a thing, and poke your noses into an affair like this—a government affair. Cattle! You ought to thank me, fall on your knees before me for my goodness! If I were to say so, you would all be put to hard labor."
About a score of peasants stood with bared heads and listened in silence. It began to grow dusk; the clouds lowered. The blue-eyed peasant walked up to the steps, and said with a sigh:
"That's the kind of business we have here!"
"Ye-es," the mother rejoined quietly.
He looked at her with an open gaze.
"What's your occupation?" he asked after a pause.
"I buy lace from the women, and linen, too."
The peasant slowly stroked his beard. Then looking up at the town hall he said gloomily and softly:
"You won't find anything of that kind here."
The mother looked down on him, and waited for a more suitable moment to depart for the tavern. The peasant's face was thoughtful and handsome and his eyes were sad. Broad-shouldered and tall, he was dressed in a patched-up coat, in a clean chintz shirt, and reddish homespun trousers. His feet were stockingless.