“Do you suppose I let myself be spied upon without taking notice of it? You are on the wrong side, pere Violette. If, instead of serving those who hate me, you were on my side I could do better for you than renew that lease of yours.” “How?” said the peasant, opening wide his avaricious eyes. “I’ll sell you my property cheap.” “Nothing is cheap when we have to pay,” said Violette, sententiously. “I want to leave the neighborhood, and I’ll let you have my farm of Mousseau, the buildings, granary, and cattle for fifty thousand francs.” “Really?” “Does that suit you?” “Hang it! I must think--” “We’ll talk about it--I shall want earnest money.” “I have no money.” “Well, a note.” “Can’t give it.” “Tell me who sent you here to-day.” “I am on my way back from where I spent this afternoon, and I only stopped in to say good-evening.” “Back without your horse? What a fool you must take me for! You are lying, and you shall not have my farm.” “Well, to tell you the truth, it was monsieur Grevin who sent me. He said ‘Violette, we want Michu; do you go and get him; if he isn’t at home, wait for him.’ I saw I should have to stay here all this evening.” “Are those sharks from Paris still at the chateau?” “Ah! that I don’t know; but there were people in the salon.” “You shall have my farm; we’ll settle the terms now. Wife, go and get some wine to wash down the contract. Take the best Roussillon, the wine of the ex-marquis,--we are not babes. You’ll find a couple of bottles on the empty cask near the door, and a bottle of white wine.” “Very good,” said Violette, who never got drunk. “Let us drink.” “You have fifty thousand francs beneath the floor of your bedroom under your bed, pere Violette; you will give them to me two weeks after we sign the deed of sale before Grevin--” Violette stared at Michu and grew livid. “Ah! you came here to spy upon a Jacobin who had the honor to be president of the club at Arcis, and you imagine he will let you get the better of him! I have eyes, I saw where your tiles have been freshly cemented, and I concluded that you did not pry them up to plant wheat there. Come, drink.” Violette, much troubled, drank a large glass of wine without noticing the quality; terror had put a hot iron in his stomach, the brandy was not hotter than his cupidity. He would have given many things to be safely home and able to change the hiding-place of his treasure. The three women smiled. “Do you like that wine?” said Michu, refilling his glass. “Yes, I do.” After a good half-hour’s decision on the time when the buyer might take possession, and on the various punctilios which the peasantry bring forward when concluding a bargain,--in the midst of assertions and counter-assertions, the filling and emptying of glasses, the giving of promises and denials, Violette suddenly fell forward with his head on the table, not tipsy, but dead-drunk. The instant that Michu saw his eyes blur he opened the window.