Light satire was lost on Blanquette.
After dinner she continued the recital of her adventures for the Master's delectation. The old couple no longer able to look after the farm were desirous of selling it, so that they could retire to Evreux where their only son who had married a rich wife kept a prosperous hotel.
"Do you know what they said, Master. 'Why does not Monsieur Paragot, who must be very rich, buy it from us and come to live in the country instead of that dirty Paris?' C'est drôle, hein?"
"Why do they think I am very rich?"
"That is what I asked them. They said if a man did not work he must be either rich or a rogue; and they know you are not a rogue, mon Maître."
"They flatter me," said Paragot. "Would you like to live in the country, Blanquette?"
"Oh yes!" she cried with conviction. "Il y a des bêtes. J'adore ça. And then it smells so good."
"It does," he sighed. "I haven't smelt it for over three years. Ah! to have the scent of the good wet earth in one's nostrils and the sound of bees in one's ears. For two pins I would go gipsying again. If I were a rich man, my little Blanquette, I would buy the farm, and give it you as your dowry, and sometimes you would let me come and stay with you."
"But as I shall never marry, mon Maître, there will be no need of a dowry."
She said it smilingly, as if she welcomed her lot as a predestined old maid. There was not a sign on her plain pleasant face of the torment raging in her bosom. In my youthful ignorance I did not know whether to deplore woman's deceit or to admire her stout-heartedness.