Pierre was expecting him; he was extremely polite, desired Martin, to sit
down, overwhelmed him with compliments, knitting his brows as he
discovered that his nephew decidedly meant business. Martin broke
silence.

"Uncle," he said, "I come to thank you for the care you have taken of my
wife's property; she could never have managed it alone. You have
received the income in the family interest: as a good guardian, I
expected no less from your affection. But now that I have returned, and
am free from other cares, we will go over the accounts, if you please."

His uncle coughed and cleared his voice before replying, then said
slowly, as if counting his words--

"It is all accounted for, my dear nephew; Heaven be praised! I don't owe
you anything."

"What!" exclaimed the astonished Martin, "but the whole income?"

"Was well and properly employed in the maintenance of your wife and
child."

"What! a thousand livres for that? And Bertrande lived alone, so
quietly and simply! Nonsense! it is impossible."

"Any surplus," resumed the old man, quite unmoved,--"any surplus went to
pay the expenses of seed-time and harvest."

"What! at a time when labour costs next to nothing?"