"I don't say it isn't, but do you think that just because a thing is
right, it's done?"

"That, no!"

"Well, then I don't think you'll ever get what you're after."

"Then he goes to the Home, there's no law that forces me to keep him in
my place if I don't want to."

"You agreed in the beginning to take him, so it's up to you to keep your
promise."

"Well, I ain't going to keep him. And when I want to turn him out I'll
do so."

"Perhaps there's a way to get rid of him now," said the old man after a
moment's thought, "and make a little money into the bargain."

"If you'll show me how, I'll stand a drink."

"Order the drinks, the affair's settled."

"Sure?

"Sure."

The old man got up and took a seat opposite Barberin. A strange thing,
as he rose, I saw his sheepskin move. It was lifted up, and I wondered
if he had another dog under his arm.

What were they going to do with me? My heart beat against my side, I
could not take my eyes off the old man.

"You won't let this child eat any more of your bread unless somebody
pays for it, that's it, isn't it?"

"That's it ... because...."

"Never mind the reason. That don't concern me. Now if you don't want
him, just give him to me. I'll take charge of him."

"You? take charge of him!"

"You want to get rid of him, don't you?"

"Give you a child like him, a beautiful boy, for he is beautiful, the
prettiest boy in the village, look at him."

"I've looked at him."

"Remi, come here."

I went over to the table, my knees trembling.

"There, don't be afraid, little one," said the old man.

"Just look at him," said Barberin again.

"I don't say that he is a homely child, if he was I wouldn't want him. I
don't want a monster."

"Ah, now if he was a monster with two ears, or even a dwarf...."

"You'd keep him, you could make your fortune out of a monster. But this
little boy is not a dwarf, nor a monster, so you can't exhibit him: he's
made the same as others, and he's no good for anything."

"He's good for work."

"He's not strong."

"Not strong, him! Land's sakes! He's as strong as any man, look at his
legs, they're that solid! Have you ever seen straighter legs than his?"

Barberin pulled up my pants.

"Too thin," said the old man.

"And his arms?" continued Barberin.

"Like his legs ... might be better. They can't hold out against fatigue
and poverty."

"What, them legs and arms? Feel 'em. Just see for yourself."

The old man passe