"But he knows that I have lost two oxen this year; that the wheat is poor; and that one must live, I and my sons, and the 'Creatures.'"
By "Creatures" the farmer meant, as is customary in the Marais, his two daughters, Eléonore and Marie-Rose.
"Tut, tut," replied the keeper, "it is not reasons he wants from you, my good man, it's the money."
The farmer shrugged his shoulders.
"Were he here at the Château the Marquis would not require it; I would soon explain how things stand. He and I were friends, I may say, as his father and mine were before us. I could show him what changes time has brought about with me. He would understand. But now one only has to do with paid agents, no longer the Master; he is no more to be seen, and some folks say we shall never see him at La Fromentière any more. It is a bad thing for us."
"Very likely," returned the keeper, "but it is not my place to discuss orders. When will you pay?"
"It's easy to ask when will you pay, but it's another thing to find the money."
"Well then, I am to answer, No."
"You will answer, Yes, as it must be. I will pay at Michaelmas, which is not far off now."
The farmer was about to stoop to resume his work when the keeper added: