"This is a nice place you've got here M. Poudrier," said the visitor, entering the house and choosing a rocking chair near the little mahogany bureau.

"That's true," said Séraphin, while he looked for the key to open the bureau. "Put your hat on the table. Make yourself at home. You know I like to make my guests feel comfortable."

The red-haired man didn't reply.

Having found the key, Séraphin put it automatically in his pocket, and went to sit down on the old armchair on the opposite side of the table.

Now, which of the two men was going to dare to speak first? The silence became unbearable. The atmosphere, charged with tension and seeping everywhere like a bad smell, began to surround and envelope the red-haired man.

The lender / loan shark made it a habit never to be the first to speak, especially when it came to financial matters. He would wait to see what the other person had to say.  He watched his slightest move. Every borrower appeared to be a dangerous adversary; every debtor became and remained a criminal. It was always better to let the enemy make the opening, to be alert and on the defensive. So he observed the red-haired man, waiting patiently for him to speak.

The silence continued.

Sometimes Séraphin would lean his head forward, rub his hands together, give a little cough; sometimes he stared straight at his victim who finally, tired and off-balance, and unable to bear the torture any longer, ventured, "Do you smoke, M. Poudrier?"

"Never."

This direct answer, pointed as an awl, penetrated the visitor to his soul, and in order to stay in Poudrier's good books, he thought it wisest to stick his pipe and tobacco back in his pocket.

Quite capable of lasting several more minutes without opening his mouth, Séraphin enjoyed seeing his adversary weaken, losing ground inch by inch. Indeed, the victim seemed to be shrinking. But, with a supreme effort, he embarked on his plea :

"If I were to give you six per cent, M. Poudrier, would that be all right?"

Séraphin bowed his head, as if lost in deep thought, slowly stroking his long, pointed, always freshly shaven chin. Suddenly his hand stopped just below his right eye. Séraphin's brain was working, calculating, sliding like a grass-snake along endless winding paths, before emerging into the sunlight with this question:

"No doubt you have cows, M. Lemont?"

"Four, M. Poudrier."

"Plenty of milk?"

"I have two good ones, two Jerseys that I bought in Ontario before I came here. The other two are nothing special - one even has a cough."

"Alright."

Séraphin thought for a few more moments, then in a honeyed voice said:

"Do you intend to carry on living here?"

"Certainly M. Poudrier."

"Did you pay a lot for the land you bought from old Blanchet?"

"Not too much, M. Poudrier. Three thousand two hundred."

"Is the mortgage paid off?"

"I still owe eight hundred dollars."

"And do you owe Massey-Harris?"

"I owe them, and some other people, around sixty five dollars."

"The stock, the animals, are they all paid for?"

"Those, yes, they're all mine, M. Poudrier."

"Are your taxes all settled?"

"I intend to make a substantial payment this autumn."

And the loan shark continued slowly and almost sensually to stroke his ploughshare-shaped chin which disappeared into the open neck of his blue shirt. The borrower, now more reassured, continued enthusiastically:

"You know M. Poudrier that these hundred dollars I want to borrow are well covered by all my assets. I'm ready to sign a three month loan agreement at six per cent interest. In three months you will be sure to get your money."

"Impossible!" Poudrier practically shouted, getting up and tearing the ancient rug with his worn out boots.

The unfortunate borrower was so taken aback that it made his head spin. How he regretted revealing all his business dealings. Absolutely for nothing. And yet how desperately he needed this money. He needed a hundred dollars to save the honour of little Célina Labranche whom he had made pregnant. Besides the stupid girl had told her parents everything, and they were forcing Lemont to pay up.

Séraphin knew a bit about the red-haired man's exploits. He knew that Lemont had enticed little Célina into his barn and had practically forced himself on her. The story was all over the countryside and Séraphin had been told by the schoolmistress. He had before him a monster of impurity, and he would make him pay dearly for his fleeting pleasures!

"I can't do it," he repeated, fixing his adversary with a steely look.

"Look, M. Poudrier, I will give you seven per cent."

"I can't do it."

"I'll give you eight per cent, but no more."

"Try getting it somewhere else. Perhaps old Ovide will give you a hundred dollars."

"Yes, yes, but I don't know Ovide, nor anyone else around here M. Poudrier. I was told you lend money. So, I met you in the village and spoke to you over dinner at Godmer's. I came to see you because my need seemed to match yours."

"It's true, M. Lemont, that I lend money. But I don't give it away. It's too hard to come by. You do not have enough guarantees. You owe eight hundred dollars on your mortgage, sixty five to Massey-Harris, you owe tax, not to mention small accounts at Lacour and elsewhere, I presume. No. The risk is too great. I can't give you a hundred dollars - I have too much to lose.”

No matter how he racked his brains, the borrower could find no argument with which to sway the lender. He thought, intelligently for once, that it would be better to keep quiet.

Séraphin continued calmly to stalk his prey:

"There is always a way. I like to help my friends. I have a soft heart. Here. I could lend you nine hundred dollars which you could repay over two years at ten per cent. That will pay off Blanchet leaving you with a hundred dollars clear. If you like we could go to the lawyer in the village who deals with all my business. I can tell you he's as honest as home baked bread and will look after your interests as well as he does mine."

"But I only pay five per cent to M. Blanchet and I have five years to pay off the capital, don’t you understand?"

"I understand very well. Very well indeed. And I'm very pleased for you. But, on the other hand, I can't lend you the money."

"You're right. I will go somewhere else," said the red-haired man in a determined voice.

And he rose, wiping his forehead and neck, for, despite the coolness of the room, the monster of impurity was sweating heavily.

Never, in twenty years of doing business, had Séraphin Poudrier let his victim leave without clinching a deal.

"Goodness gracious," he cried, "there is always a way. I'm going to lend you a hundred dollars for three months without interest. Now that's got to be worth something, eh?"

M. Lemont thought he was hearing music from heaven. But he was quickly brought down to earth when the syrupy voice added :

"Along with the agreement that you will sign, you will also sign a contract saying that next Monday you will bring your two Jersey cows here, and that, if you repay my hundred dollars in three months, you can take your cows back."

"You don't understand sir. These are the only commodities I have. That's what gives me almost all my income. What's my wife going to say?"

"True. But there are more important things in a man's life that need to be hidden from his wife. Don't you agree, M. Lemont?"

The borrower realised that Séraphin knew about his peccadillo. Suddenly the loan shark's offer seemed extremely accommodating.

"OK," he said. "I'll sign your contract."

"Sit down for a moment, M. Lemont. I'll go and draw it up."

And Poudrier took from the little mahogany bureau a sheet of paper, and the scratchy pen that had broken up so many families. He also found a little bottle containing a drop of violet ink.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed, sitting down. "It's getting very dark in here."

No sooner had he uttered these words than the outside door slammed shut and they heard the noise of a tin pot falling on the hard ground.

An agitated Donalda, appeared in the doorway. "Here comes the storm."

The two men followed her onto the threshold.

The horizon was yellow, as if the vast forests were on fire, while clouds, dark as soot, rushed wildly over the mountains. Suddenly a bolt of lightning, describing a purple Z of fiery spikes, split the northern sky from top to bottom, lighting up the whole of the heavens. Almost at the same time a clap of thunder crashed like a cascade of glass falling from outer space. Séraphin followed Donalda and Lemont who had taken refuge inside the house.

They closed the door; they closed the windows too. The wind was now bending the trees which bordered the paths and the fields. In a single blast it flattened ten acres of hay.

"My land will be destroyed," cried Séraphin, crossing himself.

"If only it would rain," said Donalda, throwing herself on her knees beside a chair to recite a rosary.

"It will pass, my dear. It will pass. Don't be afraid."

And the husband climbed up into the attic of the kitchen which served as their bedroom all the year round. He came down a few minutes later with a lit candle. By its light, Séraphin, having made Jean-Baptiste Lemont sign the promissory note for a hundred dollars, interest-free for three months, drafted the contract with a firm hand.

17^th July 1890

If, on the 17^th October this year I have not paid M. Séraphin Poudrier, farmer, the sum of one hundred dollars ($100.00), the said Séraphin Poudrier will assume ownership of my two Jersey cows which I agree to bring to him on the 19^th July 1890.

Poudrier read it twice in a loud voice, and offered it to M. Lemont who signed it with a sweaty hand.

"It's as easy as that," said Séraphin, stuffing the contract in his pocket with the note. "And you see, M. Lemont, I won’t be hard on you. Even if you don't arrive until after sunset on the 17^th October to pay me, I won't say a word. I'm a good chap. I have a soft heart. You can take your cows away. I enjoy being of service to my friends. Now, wait a minute, I'll go and get your money."

Suddenly the rain came pouring down, perpendicular, drumming on the roof tiles.

"There. That rain will make it better," declared Séraphin.

He grasped the candlestick on the table and disappeared up the staircase on the left leading to the three sacks of oats, his shadow gliding across the wall.

The red-haired man, alone in the large room which without a candle was darker than ever, had time to think about his situation. He saw, in a vision of surprising clarity, little Célina, so young, but as experienced as an old harlot.

He recalled the erotic scene. His imagination wrapped him in an ambience of pleasure. How these enchanting but fleeting moments had ignited in him a violent desire! But to pay a hundred dollars for it was definitely too dear. And from the bottom of his heart he cursed the fifteen year old, even though she was more beautiful than all the flowers of summer. The vision of lust filled his eyes and his soul, and he smouldered like a torch.

Ah, if only he had Séraphin Poudrier's millions! No, he wouldn't hesitate a moment: he would run off to the ends of the earth with little Célina and enjoy her youthful body till his dying day.

He was still intoxicated with desire when Séraphin returned with the money. Twice he counted out on the table the sum of eighty dollars.

"Haven't I borrowed a hundred?" asked Lemont.

"That’s business! I'm retaining a commission for the service I'm giving you. Sound business makes good friends. Isn't that true?"

"That's right," said the borrower, dryly, vengeance in his voice.

The rain had stopped. The sun was setting in a sky of pure blue. Scents rose from the fields and the woods. It smelled good, the soaking earth and the damp leaves from which stray drops still fell from time to time. In the distance one could see maples bent in two, or broken branches hanging down. Everything breathed again as if the hour of resurrection had come. Nature was renewed, and the swallows were writing the most beautiful poem of joy in their fantastical flights.

Séraphin and Donalda, standing on the doorstep, watched the red-haired man walking towards the village carrying his enormous straw hat. He was singing.

"Poor devil," thought Donalda.

"You know, my dear, he's going to be all right," said Séraphin.

And they went back into the house where supper awaited them. The woman had not eaten since four o'clock that morning. Now she was no longer hungry. The man sat down alone, at the end of the table. He devoured plain boiled potatoes and three buckwheat pancakes, hard, grey and as dry as roof tiles.