“What is a pity?” asked Sylvestre Ker.
“It is a pity to miss such a rare opportunity.”
Sylvestre Ker exclaimed:
“What opportunity? So you were listening to my conversation with Matheline?”
“Why, yes,” replied Pol. “I always have an ear open to hear what concerns you, my true friend. Seven years! Shall I tell you what I think? You would only have twelve months to wait to go with your mother to another Christmas Mass.”
“I have promised,” said Sylvestre.
“That is nothing; if your mother loves you truly, she will forgive you.”
“If she loves me!” cried Sylvestre Ker. “Oh! yes, she loves me with her whole heart.”
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 who 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.”