“Are these your sons?” Monsieur Gerval asked the old man.
“Yes, monsieur, they are my support, the staff of my old age. This is Gervais, my oldest; he is always merry, always ready to laugh; and this is Jean, my youngest, he isn’t so light-hearted as his brother, he doesn’t speak much, but he is a steady fellow, a great worker and very economical. I love them both, for they are honest and incapable of deceiving anybody, and with those qualities a man is certain to make his way.”
“I congratulate you on having such children; but why do you go on the road with them at your age?”
“You see, monsieur, we’re going to Metz to set up in business; my boys are going to marry the daughters of a correspondent of theirs, and I am going to live with them.”
“That makes a difference; but was it chance that brought you to my house, or did the peasants point it out to you as a good place at which to pass the night?”
“Monsieur,” said Gervais, “we are not familiar with this neighborhood, and as we started out rather late, the darkness took us by surprise; that is why we sought shelter, especially on account of our father, who is too old to endure severe weather. But for him, we should never have been able to make up our minds to ask a gentleman for a night’s lodging, and we should have passed the night on the snow, my brother and I—shouldn’t we, Jean?”
“Yes,” said Jean in a low voice, and without removing his gaze from the fire.
“You would have done very wrong, messieurs,” said Monsieur Gerval, filling the strangers’ glasses; “I like to be useful to my fellowmen, and I will try to give you a comfortable night.”
“You live in a very isolated house,” said Gervais, emptying his glass; “aren’t you ever afraid of being victimized by robbers?”
“I have never been afraid of that; nothing has ever happened to me thus far.”