“You’re mistaken, mother, I am very happy; for I tell you again, you won’t need to ruin your eyes any more, to wear yourself out working.”
“How is that, my dear?”
“Because Monsieur Malberg—you know, that gentleman on the third floor who is so kind to us——”
“Yes, yes; well?”
“Well, we are going to his house in the country—both of us, mother, both of us. Yes, I will go with you and settle down there; I won’t leave you any more; I won’t come to Paris any more—never! never! oh! I have a horror of Paris!”
“What’s that, my boy? Monsieur Malberg has offered you a place at his country house, too?”
“Why, yes, to be sure; I am to look after the workmen, to take care of his garden and plant it; there are eight acres of it—that’s a pretty good-sized garden, eight acres! He told me that I should be at liberty to arrange it all as I pleased; and you, mother, you will have charge of the house, the linen, the furniture, the poultry yard; and he will give us a thousand francs a year for it.”
“A thousand francs! Mon Dieu! why that is a fortune, my boy! It means that our future is provided for; you will not be a messenger any more. We won’t spend the thousand francs; we will save up money to buy you a substitute when you are drafted! For that is what I am always thinking about.—And was it only just now that that generous man offered to employ you at his country house?”
“Just now—oh, no! It was a long time ago, mother. If you knew—but I won’t keep it from you any more; you shall know what a bad son I have been; but you will forgive me, when you know the cause. Mon Dieu! it was too much for me!”
“You, a bad son, Georget; no, that is impossible; you do yourself an injustice, my child!”