"You must not mind my helping myself," he said to his father, who remained sitting at the window behind him, "I have only got a quarter of an hour; it's a long way to the station. I shall be fined," and between the mouthfuls of soup he asked in a softened voice: "You have not given me news of Rousille. Is she quite well? And Mathurin, does he still imagine that he will be all right again? He who always was so keen on being master at La Fromentière did nothing to keep André back, I suppose?" Toussaint Lumineau rose abruptly, unable longer to control his anger. "You are a couple of ungrateful children, both of you!" he exclaimed in a loud voice. "Stay in your town!" and going out of the kitchen, he crossed the café before the eyes of the sickly-looking mechanic, and of Eléonore, who, terrified, leant forward: "I told you so, poor father. I told you he would not! I knew it. Still, _au revoir_." Then to François who was following him: "You are going with him to the station." He shook his head. "Yes, go! It would look better; he would not then be able to say that we had not treated him kindly." The farmer had opened the door into the street. "I will go with you to the station, if you like," said François sheepishly. "I did not ask you to go with me to the station, ungrateful son; I asked you to come back and save us all from ruin, and you have refused!" was the reply. They saw him stride down the street erect, his fine figure making two of the puny town mechanics, his silvery hair shining through the mist of rain. The door shut behind him. "No easy customer, the old papa," said the man who was dining. "Don't talk of it," exclaimed Eléonore; "I am quite ill." "What was it he wanted?" With a coarse laugh François said as he went back to the kitchen: "Wanted me to go back and dig for him." The mechanic, shrugging his shoulders, said with a self-satisfied air: "A fine idea! The old gentleman was a bit unreasonable, I think." CHAPTER XV. THE EMIGRANT. It was late afternoon when Toussaint Lumineau returned to La Fromentière. It had rained heavily all day. On the hearth in the house-place the largest pot was boiling full of potatoes for the men's supper, and to give food for the pigs. Sitting by the fireside Mathurin and the farm-servant, kept indoors by the inclement weather, were warming themselves and waiting for news. The cripple who had been very gloomy, and in a state of nervous excitement since André's departure, had not spoken a word the whole afternoon. Rousille could be heard folding linen and arranging it in piles in the cupboard of the adjacent room. The farmer ascended the house steps and opened the door. Simultaneously the thought came into the minds of the three awaiting him: "What did they say? Will they come back? Did they let you go away without even a promise to return?" But no one dared to ask him.