Toussaint Lumineau had seized François' hand, and was pressing it between both of his with a tenderness that spoke volumes, and his eyes, which sought the eyes of his son, uttered the same entreaty. In measure, however, that his father's mute pleading entered his soul, François quickly recovered from his surprise, hardening himself against the momentary feeling of compassion. Presently, drawing back his hand, he retreated a step, saying with the air of a man defiant and on the defensive. "I understand. You are not wanting to engage another servant, but would rather have Lionore and me back at Sallertaine?" "If you could, François. I have no one else to look to." A half-satisfied smile at the correctness of his surmise passed over François' face as he rejoined: "Yet you see that the other has gone too; and that there is nothing more to be done with the land." "You are mistaken. He has gone to cultivate it elsewhere, in America! It was because he missed you so sorely, François, that he lost heart at home." "Yes," said François, drawing up a chair for himself and sitting down to the table. "It seems to be a wonderful country, America! But here with us it's too hard." The farmer did not take up the words which had angered him before. "Well!" he said, "I will give you help. I have no other son now, for you know that Mathurin is of no account in the management of a farm. You will soon be the master; the next lease shall be drawn up in your name, and there will still be a Lumineau at La Fromentière. Will you come back?" François made a gesture of annoyance and gave no reply. "You are making nothing," resumed the farmer, "by what Eléonore tells me." "No, the pay is poor enough." "The café has not many customers?" "No; but we paid too much for it. We are not sure that it will answer." He turned to his sister who was listening passive and tearful. "But we scrape along, eh, Lionore? In time I may get a rise, so the sub-inspector tells me. Then I shall be better off. I don't want more. We have got to know people already; on Sundays I have my half-day off." "You had the whole day at La Fromentière!" "I don't say that I hadn't. But what you ask, father, can't be done." A man, whose entrance they had not perceived, now called out from the adjoining room: "Is no one here? Is there no dinner to be had?" Eléonore, glad of the interruption, passed between her brother and father, and they heard her laugh to appease the customer. François drew the soup-tureen towards him, and put in the ladle.