On seeing his father a shade of emotion passed over his face.
"Good day, father," said he, holding out his hand. "So things are not going well by what I see?"
The farmer made a sign of acquiescence.
"You are in trouble. Yes, I understand. So should I be if I were you. André ought not to have done it; he was the last, he ought to have stayed."
Toussaint Lumineau had seized François' hand, and was pressing it between both of his with a tenderness that spoke volumes, and his eyes, which sought the eyes of his son, uttered the same entreaty. In measure, however, that his father's mute pleading entered his soul, François quickly recovered from his surprise, hardening himself against the momentary feeling of compassion. Presently, drawing back his hand, he retreated a step, saying with the air of a man defiant and on the defensive.
"I understand. You are not wanting to engage another servant, but would rather have Lionore and me back at Sallertaine?"
"If you could, François. I have no one else to look to."
A half-satisfied smile at the correctness of his surmise passed over François' face as he rejoined:
"Yet you see that the other has gone too; and that there is nothing more to be done with the land."
"You are mistaken. He has gone to cultivate it elsewhere, in America! It was because he missed you so sorely, François, that he lost heart at home."