in prison,” finally said the Abbé Chaperon, “only the countess has read your letter, and she has answered it. But it is necessary to come to some decision,” he continued after a pause, “and this is what I have the honor of advising you to do. Do not sell your farm. The lease is up, and it has lasted now for twenty-four years; in a few months, you will be able to raise the rent to six thousand francs, and have a bonus equal to two years’ rent. Borrow from an honest man, and not from the men of the town who trade in mortgages. Your neighbor is a worthy man, a man of good society, who was in the fashionable world before the Revolution, and who from atheism has turned to Catholicism. Do not feel any reluctance in coming to see him this evening, he would be much affected by your step; forget for a moment that you are a Kergarouët.”
“Never!” said the aged mother in a harsh voice.
“Well then, be an amiable Kergarouët; come when he is alone, he will only lend at three and a half, perhaps at three per cent, and will do you service with delicacy, you will be pleased; he himself will go to deliver Savinien, for he would be obliged to sell some stock, and he will bring him back to you.”
“Are you then speaking of that little Minoret?”
“That little one is eighty-three years old,” replied the Abbé Chaperon, smiling. “My dear lady, have a little Christian charity, do not wound him, he may be useful to you in more ways than one.”
“And how?”
