g was
changed, except that his son Cesaire slept in the cemetery.

What could he, an old man, do? He could work no longer; he was now good
for nothing except to swallow the soup prepared by his daughter-in-law.
And he ate it in silence, morning and evening, watching with an eye of
rage the little boy also taking soup, right opposite him, at the other
side of the table. Then he would go out, prowl about the fields after the
fashion of a vagabond, hiding behind the barns where he would sleep for
an hour or two as if he were afraid of being seen and then come back at
the approach of night.

But Celeste's mind began to be occupied by graver anxieties. The farm
needed a man to look after it and cultivate it. Somebody should be there
always to go through the fields, not a mere hired laborer, but a regular
farmer, a master who understood the business and would take an interest
in the farm. A lone woman could not manage the farming, watch the price
of corn and direct the sale and purchase of cattle. Then ideas came into
her head, simple practical ideas, which she had turned over in her head
at night. She could not marry again before the end of the year, and it
was necessary at once to take care of pressing interests, immediate
interests.

Only one man could help her out of her difficulties, Victor Lecoq, the
father of her child. He was strong and understood farming; with a little
money in his pocket he would make an excellent cultivator. She was aware
of his skill, having known him while he was working on her parents' farm.

So one morning, seeing him passing along the road with a cart of manure,
she went out to meet him. When he perceived her, he drew up his horses
and she said to him as if she had met him the night before:

"Good-morrow, Victor--are you quite well, the same as ever?"

He replied:

"I'm quite well, the same as ever--and how are you?"

"Oh, I'd be all right, only that I'm alone in the house, which bothers me
on account of the farm."

Then they remained chatting for a long time, leaning against the wheel of
the heavy cart. The man every now and then lifted up his cap to scratch
his forehead and began thinking, while she, with flushed cheeks, went on
talking warmly, told him about her views, her plans; her projects for the
future. At last he said in a low tone:

"Yes, it can be done."

She opened her hand like a countryman clinching a bargain and asked:

"Is it agreed?"

He pressed her outstretche