“Ah, John, my friend, I beg your mercy; pardon me if I have done you any wrong, and on my word I will give you six bushels of wheat.”
“By God!” said he, “I will do nothing of the kind. You shall die by my hands and I will have your life if I do not have twelve bushels.”
The good wife, who heard this dispute, in order to restore peace, came forward, and said to her husband.
“John, dear, let him finish what he has begun, I beg, and you shall have eight bushels. Shall he not?” she added, turning to her lover.
“I am satisfied,” he said, “though on my oath it is too much, seeing how dear corn is.”
“It is too much?” said the good man. “Morbleu! I much regret that I did not say more, for you would have to pay a much heavier fine if you were brought to justice: however, make up your mind that I will have twelve bushels, or you shall die.”
“Truly, John,” said his wife, “you are wrong to contradict me. It seems to me that you ought to be satisfied with eight bushels, for you know that is a large quantity of wheat.”
“Say no more,” he replied, “I will have twelve bushels, or I will kill him and you too.”
“The devil,” quoth the lover; “you drive a bargain; but at least, if I must pay you, let me have time.”
“That I agree to, but I will have my twelve bushels.”