"For his daughter--for Blanchette? Yes, I know. All the rest are married--long ago. Only the little Blanchette is left. Not so very little now, nor so very young. Let us see--ten, twenty, twenty-five, yes, twenty-six years this summer. I remember well--fourteen years after we came to the parish. They were sufficiently poor then, those Laroches, poor and not at all proud. But they are not so very proud even now, although quite rich. And the little Blanchette was pretty, too, before the smallpox. A clever girl, and excellent housekeeper, a manager from the bottom, a worker, too. No, it is not a bad suggestion, not at all. "Yes, she would be a fine partner for one who owns a hotel. No fear of failure after that. All anxiety gone, all concern for the future. The dowry would be considerable. She would have that fine farm, with cattle, horses, pigs, sheep, implements, furniture, linen, and all that, not to speak of money in the bank. Bonhomme Laroche has explained it to me many times. A strange man, that. A miser, true, but a just miser. He will have his money always, to the last _sou_, but no more. I hope that we may be able to pay him all, when due. There are great risks in an enterprise like this, and great responsibilities. The alliance would settle everything, remove all difficulties, dispel all clouds. Think of it, Jean. The two farms united--a veritable estate, a seigniory, almost. Ah, my son, if your father were alive, how pleased he would be!" "My father," said Jean, thinking aloud, "would he have sold himself in this way, I wonder?" "Your father, Jean, would be pleased to see your prosperity, as I have said, but for himself he did not regard such things. They had no power over him. He did not know the value of money, that man. For him truth, honour, a good name, were the true values, more precious than rubies, more desirable than all the gold of the world. And love? Yes, love above all. He also could have married an heiress, the daughter of a rich merchant, a ship-owner. Beautiful she was, I must confess, beautiful and accomplished. Yet he preferred me, me. I never knew why. Ah, _Mon Dieu_, what devotion! Did he ever regret it? He never said so. On the contrary, he assured me many times---- And I, did I regret the poverty, the work, the long years? No, it was my glory. And you, Jean, my son, are like him, and I know what you will do. Yes, and you are right, both of you. Land, cattle, money, are very fine, all right in their place, but in comparison with love they do not count for much. Ah, selfish old woman that I am to wish you to give up so much for the sake of a dowry. Jean, my son, you shall not, you could not." "No, my mother, it would be impossible."