‘You heard aright,’ said Berthier. ‘There was evident danger in remaining within. The spire might fall at any moment and bury those in the church under its ruins. We saw a girl near us fall, and thinking she had been injured by the lightning, we carried her out and transported her to my house. We did not know where was her home. She is now with my wife, Madame Berthier, who has taken great interest in her.’ André remained standing before him with his eyes on the ground. He knew that Berthier was deceiving him, and the Intendant did not care to do more than give his account of what had really taken place, a superficially plausible colour. ‘I see your wheat is under water,’ said the stout gentleman, pointing with his thumb towards the submerged field, and then, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he twisted the corner into a little screw and ran it round the lids of his eyes in succession. ‘Yes, monsieur, all my crop is destroyed.’ ‘And what have you to subsist upon now?’ ‘Nothing!’ ‘Can you pay the tax?’ ‘I do not know.’ ‘Have you any money laid by, to help you out of your difficulties? Of course, in prosperous times, you have put aside a nice sum to fall back upon?’ ‘Monsieur! how can a peasant lay by? The revenue absorbs all his profits, and leaves him barely enough for his subsistence. He may live in times of plenty; in times of scarcity he must die.’ ‘Then what do you intend doing?’ Matthias shrugged his shoulders. ‘All depends on the winter. I have a few potatoes. I must sell this wet corn--it will all be mouldy--for what it will fetch. Ah! if I could have garnered it three days ago, or even yesterday. I shall starve.’ He groaned. ‘And your daughter will starve with you!’ André answered with a scowl. ‘Do you owe any money?’ ‘Yes; I owe Jacob Maître, the usurer, four hundred crowns.’ ‘You cannot pay him?’ ‘No. I have been in debt a long while; he threatens, and I had hoped to pay him off a part this year.’ ‘And now he must wait?’ ‘He will not wait.’ ‘How so?’ ‘He will put me in prison.’ ‘And whilst you are in prison, what will your daughter do?’ ‘God knows!’ André bowed his head lower, and began to mutter to himself. ‘What are you saying?’ asked the Intendant. ‘Nothing,’ answered the peasant, doggedly. ‘But I will hear,’ said Berthier. ‘I said if God would not provide, then the devil must.’