The young man standing so erect in the stern, his profile scarcely defined in the darkness, stooped precipitately:
"Look out!" he cried, "lie back, Mathurin!" Perfect darkness was around them; they were passing under one of the single-arched stone bridges that intersect the Marais here and there. When they had passed through Mathurin noticed that the boat was going more slowly, as though the propeller were absorbed in thought. Encouraged by this, resolved to be put in possession of the secret that concerned the future of La Fromentière, the cripple resumed persuasively:
"We are quite by ourselves here, André; why not tell me all you are pondering? You would like to cultivate newer soil than ours; you, too, want to go away, but further than François, and for another purpose?"
Then the younger brother ceased to punt. He still stood erect on the raised stern of the boat, and suffered the pole to float aimlessly behind him.
"As you have discovered it, Mathurin," he said, "keep my secret. It is true that proposals have been made to me.... With my two thousand francs I might have, on the other side of the Atlantic, a whole farm of my own and a brood of horses.... Some friends of mine are looking into the matter for me ... but I have not made up my mind. I have not yet consented."
"You are afraid of father?"
"I am afraid of leaving him in difficulties. If I were to go, who would carry on La Fromentière? There is certainly Rousille, she might marry."
"Not that Boquin fellow! That would not do for us at all! But my father has said No; and he is not the man to go back on his word."
"Then I do not see who is to carry on the farm?"
In a hard, imperious voice, which betrayed the intensity of his feelings, the cripple cried: