"Yes, go! It would look better; he would not then be able to say that we had not treated him kindly."
The farmer had opened the door into the street.
"I will go with you to the station, if you like," said François sheepishly.
"I did not ask you to go with me to the station, ungrateful son; I asked you to come back and save us all from ruin, and you have refused!" was the reply. They saw him stride down the street erect, his fine figure making two of the puny town mechanics, his silvery hair shining through the mist of rain. The door shut behind him.
"No easy customer, the old papa," said the man who was dining.
"Don't talk of it," exclaimed Eléonore; "I am quite ill."
"What was it he wanted?"
With a coarse laugh François said as he went back to the kitchen:
"Wanted me to go back and dig for him."
The mechanic, shrugging his shoulders, said with a self-satisfied air: