"A dozen chickens at ten francs? That's a hundred and twenty francs?"
"Yes."
"I'll just have a look, but I won't promise nothing!" he said as he went off.
When he had gone out, without bothering about the girl who was leaning against the chimney-piece, and watching us slyly, Guillaumin slated me. Ten francs apiece. He never heard of such a thing. Was I crazy? A hundred and twenty francs! No. It couldn't be allowed. I should want the cash some day or other. I didn't realise.... The old chap was sickening. It would serve him right if we cleared him out of everything and left him an order payable at the end of the war. So that was settled? What?
But I shook my head, and stuck to it. I had spent a relatively infinitesimal sum up till now. The chance was too tempting!
The peasant reappeared. He brought the poultry back with him, tied by their legs. They were squalling hard and were certainly very fine birds. His forehead was wrinkled; he must be afraid we might give him the slip and be off with the booty. His face cleared when I laid the purse on the table. But when I pulled a hundred-franc note out of my pocket, the old fellow waved it aside, and pointed to the purse.
"None o' that now! You've got that amount in solid gold!"
"Take this note?" I retorted.
"Give me gold, gold!"
"Why on earth should I?"