Informed of the manner in which Lumineau had presented himself, dreading some violence, he stopped short at the foot of the staircase, rested his elbow on the banisters, and touching the brim of his cap with three fingers, said carelessly: "They should have shown you in, farmer. But as it seems that you are in haste, we can talk just as well here. I have done your son a service, is that your reason for coming?" "Just so," returned Lumineau. "Can I do anything more for you?" "I want to keep my boy, M. Meffray." "Keep him? What do you mean?" "Yes; that you should undo what you have done." "But that depends upon him. Have you had your summons, François?" "Yes, sir." "Well, my friend, if you do not want to take the post, there is no lack of candidates to fill your place, as you know. I have now ten other applications which I have far more reason to support than I had yours. For after all, you Lumineaus, you do not vote with us in the elections. So do you wish to give up the place?" "No, sir." "It is I who will not have him go," broke in Toussaint Lumineau, "I want him at La Fromentière." "But he is of age, farmer!" "He is my son, M. Meffray. It is his part to work for me. Put yourself in my place, I who am an old man. I had counted on leaving my farm to him, as my father left it to me. He goes away, and takes my daughter with him. So I lose two children, and through your fault." "Excuse me; I did not seek him; he came to me." "But without you he would not be going, nor Eléonore either! They had to have recommendations. You call that doing a service, M. Meffray? Did you even know what would be best for François--had you ever seen him in his home to know if he was unhappy there? Monsieur Meffray, you must give him back to me." "Settle it with your son. It does not concern me." "You will not speak to those who have entrapped my son, and annul the agreement?" Advancing a step, and pointing at him with extended arm, Toussaint Lumineau said in a loud voice: "Then you have done my son more harm in one single day than I in all my life." M. Meffray's heavy face crimsoned. "Be off, old hound!" he shouted. "Be off, take your son! Manage your own affairs. Ah! these peasants! Such are the thanks one gets for troubling about them!" The farmer seemed not to have heard; he remained motionless. But there was a strange fire in his eyes; from the depths of his tortured heart, from the depths of the faith taught to his race for generations past, the words came to his lips: "You shall answer for them," he said. "How so?" "There where they are going they will both be lost, M. Meffray. You shall answer for their eternal perdition."