I resolved to have recourse to my friend Paillard, though, if the truth were told, he had never offered to lend me money; but since I took a sincere pleasure in asking him, why should he not find equal delight in giving me what I needed?
Arguing in this way, I took advantage of a comparatively fine day and went to Dornecy. Everything spoke of sadness; the dark hovering clouds, the muddy ground, the damp gusts of wind swooping like the wings of a great bird, tearing the yellow leaves from the trees and scattering them over the fields.
Paillard could hardly wait to let me get out my first sentence before he interrupted me to complain of the hard times, the falling off of his business, the bad debts he had, lack of money, et cetera, till I pulled him up short by asking him if he would like me to lend him a penny piece?
It would be hard to say which of us was the more irritated and hurt by this little passage at arms, but we kept up the conversation for a while longer, talking in a stiff unnatural way of the weather and the crops. I could see that he was sorry for his meanness; the poor old boy is good-hearted at bottom and genuinely attached to me, and I knew that he would have been delighted to lend me money, if he had been certain that he would lose nothing by it, and what is more he would have yielded if I had pressed the point; but he was not to blame, after all; he had centuries of miserly blood in his veins, and though there may be small householders in his position who are also open-handed,—I say there is a legend that such people do exist,—when you lay a finger on the purse of a man like that, his first instinct is to say “No!”
At that very moment Paillard would have loved to reconsider his refusal, but here my pride came in, and I would make no further advances; my friend ought to have been glad to help me out of my difficulties, and if he thought otherwise, so much the worse for him!
There we sat sulky and unhappy; he asked if I would not stay to lunch, but I refused somewhat curtly, though I could see it nearly broke his heart, and he followed me to the door with a hang-dog expression; but as my foot was on the threshold, something came over me; I put my arm around his old neck and embraced him; he did the same to me, and there we stood without a word for a minute or two.
At last he said timidly, “Colas, I could let you have a little.”
“Say no more about it,” I answered, for I am an obstinate devil.
“Well,” he said, “you will at least stay to luncheon?”
So we sat down and ate heartily enough, but nothing would have induced me to borrow of him now; I am made like that, and if I suffered for it this time, why so of course did he.