He stopped his discourse and his walk, gazed at his nephew who had fallen across the table and was now sleeping soundly; then recommenced his peregrinations.
"I am disgusted with the world; I don't know what it will all come to. Some of these modern farmers are even discarding the _grande charrue_. Oh! shades of our ancestors. The great plough--the only feast of the year that is worth anything, mutton and roast beef, ham and veal, cider by the gallon and a jovial company of good old sons of the soil.
"It is horrible thus to see our old routine trampled underfoot, our ancestors' customs sneered at."
Mr. Rougeant was extremely animated. Like nearly every other country Guernseyman, he was opposed to change.
He walked about with distorted features, his eyes shining with a strange light.
He thought of his family dwindling away; of his daughter disregarding his commands and disobeying him. In his innermost soul he felt convinced that she would never marry his nephew. He cast his eyes in the direction of the latter. What! he was sleeping while _he_ was enduring all the agony of a king who is being dethroned; of a general, whose army is in open mutiny against him; of a millionaire who sees his whole fortune disappear through some awful catastrophe! It was unendurable.
He again began to pace the room. Having finally arrived at a decision as to his future conduct, and thinking just then of his daughter's disregard for his tastes, he shouted in a voice of thunder, bringing down his fist upon the table with an awful crash.
"_Palfrancordi!_ let her act according to her own stubborn will, but she'll not inherit a penny of mine, not one double."
He was now quite close to his nephew and the latter, aroused by the noise which his uncle had made, raised his head and yawningly drawled out: "You're quite right, uncle."
The farmer stood straight in front of Tom Soher, his arms folded, his penetrating eye fixed scrutinizingly on his nephew. He perceived the latter's state; his wrath increased. "What!" he ejaculated; "you are drunk!"
Tom was in such a plight that he understood not his uncle, neither did he perceive his anger. He muttered: "You're quite right, uncle."
"Then begone, you wretched inebriate. I'll not have intoxicated brutes about my house."