Part 31 (2/2)
The cripple had drawn back into a dark corner between the two beds, out of the range of the lamplight; there, as though on the watch for the words spoken, he listened; his trembling hands resting on the crutches shook the bed-curtains.
”La Fromentiere cannot go on as it is now,” resumed the farmer. ”I have bidden Rousille take a message to the Michelonnes. One or the other of the sisters, whether it be Adelaide or Veronique matters not, is to go to the Bocage to bring back Jean Nesmy.”
”Ah! you are marrying Rousille?”
”Yes, my friend.”
”To a dismissed farm-servant!”
”I am taking him back.”
”A _Boquin_! A man not of these parts!”
”A good worker, Mathurin, and one who always loved our soil.”
”And he is to live at La Fromentiere?”
”Of course. I need help. I need a son to stand by me.”
Mathurin's tawny head was thrust out from darkness.
”And me,” he cried, ”what are you going to do with me?”
In his look was a concentrated reproach, all pent-up suffering and wrath of years.
”So I, the eldest, the rightful heir, am only to bear my suffering and submit to the will of others?”
”My son,” replied his father gently, ”you will continue to live with us as now; you will do what you can, and no one will expect more. No work will be undertaken here without your having first been consulted, that I promise you. The farmstead will be your home after my death as now.”
”No. I will not be ordered about by a man who does not bear my name. A Lumineau, and a Lumineau only, must be master here!”
”It is the sorrow of my life, Mathurin, that this cannot be.”
”I could have borne with Francois, even with Andre,” continued the cripple, with equal vehemence, ”but Rousille and her _Boquin_ shall never be the masters here. It is my home, and, I tell you, it is my turn!”
”But, my poor boy, you cannot take the management.”
The serge curtains shook, and the unhappy man, suffocating with rage, made a few uncertain steps forward.
”I cannot tell what is good ploughing?” he gasped.
”Yes.”
”I cannot buy a pair of oxen?”
”Yes.”
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