‘Goodman André, that is a somewhat shocking sentiment. Besides, it is not altogether true; there may be a half measure, you know. Now madame, my wife,--a very worthy, pious woman--a little of heaven one way, but a deuced black and ugly one--a little of hell the other way,--she is the person to do it. She has commissioned me to ask you to allow her to retain your child as her servant. That is her message. She wants an active girl to wait upon her, and she has taken a fancy to your daughter. I do not interfere in household matters--understand that--but my good wife, being unable, or disinclined, to come here and see you on the subject, has persuaded me to do her work. I am goodnatured, I am fat; fat people are always goodnatured, so I yield to my wife in everything. I am her slave--her factotum. It is a pity to be goodnatured; one is imposed upon, even by the best of wives.’ André did not speak; through the corner of his eyes he was contemplating his submerged corn-field. He knew still that Berthier was deceiving him, and he was calculating the chances of the approaching winter. Would his potatoes last, even if Jacob Maître did not come down upon him? Would not the usurer seize on everything,--his cow, his horse, his cart, his potatoes, his bed and furniture, his very clothes? Berthier took some money out of his pocket, and made twelve little heaps on the seat beside him. ‘What do you say to me, in my generosity, giving you six months’ wage for your girl in advance? This is very reckless of me, because I really do not know whether she will suit madame or not. Madame is capricious, she sometimes sends away a dozen servants in the year. However, as you are in great distress, and I am constitutionally liberal--fat people are always liberal--I say, well, I will risk it. You shall have six months’ wage in advance, and the wage is good; it is high, very high. Count.’ André touched one of the little heaps with his finger, and upset the silver pieces, that he might reckon their number; then he counted the heaps, and multiplied the sum in one by six; then he doubled that. He would not speak yet. Berthier substituted gold for some of the silver. Rarely had gold passed through the peasant’s fingers. He took the piece up in his trembling palm, turned it over, and looked at it fixedly. His hand shook as with the palsy, and the gold piece fell from it into the mud. André’s brow became beaded with perspiration. He stooped, and picking it up hastily, went to a pitcher and washed it reverently, and then replaced it on the bench. ‘Well, man!’ said the Intendant, taking his pocket-handkerchief and spreading it on his knee. It was stained.