As he was a land-owner, he found no difficulty in meeting with an obliging person, who consented to lend him for two years thirty-five hundred francs, in return for a first mortgage on his property.  When the papers were signed, and Trumence had the money in his pocket, he set out for Rochefort, where dealers in substitutes abounded; and for the sum of two thousand francs, exclusive of some smaller items, they furnished him a substitute of the best quality.

Delighted with the operation, Trumence was about to return home, when his evil star led him to sup at his inn with a countryman, a former schoolmate, who was now a sailor on board a coal-barge.  Of course, countrymen when they meet must drink.  They did drink; and, as the sailor very soon scented the twelve hundred francs which remained in Trumence’s pockets, he swore that he was going to have a jolly time, and would not return on board his barge as long as there remained a cent in his friend’s pocket.  So it happened, that, after a fortnight’s carouse, the sailor was arrested and put in jail; and Trumence was compelled to borrow five francs from the stage-driver to enable him to get home.

This fortnight was decisive for his life.  During these days he had lost all taste for work, and acquired a real passion for taverns where they played with greasy cards.  After his return he tried to continue this jolly life; and, to do so, he made more debts.  He sold, piece after piece, all he possessed that was salable, down to his mattress and his tools.  This was not the way to repay the thirty-five hundred francs which he owed.  When pay-day came, the creditor, seeing that his security was diminishing every day, lost no time.  Before Trumence was well aware of what was going on, an execution was in the house; his lands were sold; and one fine day he found himself in the street, possessing literally nothing in the world but the wretched clothes on his back.

He might easily have found employment; for he was a good workman, and people were fond of him in spite of all.  But he was even more afraid of work than he was fond of drink.  Whenever want pressed too hard, he worked a few days; but, as soon as he had earned ten francs, good-by!  Off he went, lounging by the road-side, talking with the wagoners, or loafing about the villages, and watching for one of those kind topers, who, rather than drink alone, invite the first-comer.  Trumence boasted of being well known all along the coast, and even far into the department.  And what was most surprising was that people did not blame him much for his idleness.  Good housewives in the country would, it is true, greet him with a “Well, what do you want here, good-for-nothing?” But they would rarely refuse him a bowl of soup or a glass of white wine.  His unchanging good-humor, and his obliging disposition, explained this forbearance.  This man, who would refuse a well-paid job, was ever ready to lend a hand for nothing.  And he was handy at every thing, by land and by water, he called it, so that the farmer whose business was pressing, and the fisherman in his boat who wanted help, appealed alike to Trumence.