"Yes," said François, drawing up a chair for himself and sitting down to the table. "It seems to be a wonderful country, America! But here with us it's too hard."
The farmer did not take up the words which had angered him before.
"Well!" he said, "I will give you help. I have no other son now, for you know that Mathurin is of no account in the management of a farm. You will soon be the master; the next lease shall be drawn up in your name, and there will still be a Lumineau at La Fromentière. Will you come back?"
François made a gesture of annoyance and gave no reply.
"You are making nothing," resumed the farmer, "by what Eléonore tells me."
"No, the pay is poor enough."
"The café has not many customers?"
"No; but we paid too much for it. We are not sure that it will answer." He turned to his sister who was listening passive and tearful. "But we scrape along, eh, Lionore? In time I may get a rise, so the sub-inspector tells me. Then I shall be better off. I don't want more. We have got to know people already; on Sundays I have my half-day off."
"You had the whole day at La Fromentière!"
"I don't say that I hadn't. But what you ask, father, can't be done."