Some chestnuts still remained, and Bihan shelled one while he said,—
"Certainly, certainly, mothers always love their children; but Matheline is not your mother. You are one-eyed, you are lame, and you have sold your little patrimony to buy your furnaces. Nothing remains of it. Where is the girl that can wait seven years? Nearly the half of her age!... If I were in your place, I would not throw away my luck as you are about to do, but at the hour of Matins I would work for my happiness."
Sylvestre Ker was standing before the fireplace. He listened, his eyes bent down, with a frown upon his brow.
"You have spoken well," at last he said; "my dear mother will forgive me. I shall remain, and will work at the hour of Matins."
"You have decided for the best!" cried Bihan. "Rest easy; I will be with you in case of danger. Open the door of your laboratory. We will work together; I will cling to you like your shadow!"
Sylvestre Ker did not move, but looked fixedly upon the floor, and then, as if thinking aloud, murmured,—
"It will be the first time I have ever caused my dear mother sorrow!"
He opened a door, but not that of the laboratory, pushed Pol Bihan outside, and said,—
"The danger is for myself alone; the gold will be for all. Go to the Christmas Mass in my place; say to Matheline that she will be rich, and to my dear mother that she will have a happy old age, since she will live and die with her fortunate son."