He leads the man to a tree; in fact, it is her tree, and they are standing right under her branch. She is intrigued by what will happen. Will she be witness to a killing? A real murder? She takes another bite of cake, swallows hard.

“I am glad you came,” her father says. He has lately surprised her with these other sides of himself; apparently, he is capable of simpering. “It is an embarrassing position I find myself in.”

The man nods, though he looks more embarrassed than Jacques.

“Still, it is my own fault. I admit to that,” her father continues. “What man does not occasionally give in to his baser instincts and lay too much on a wager? That night luck was not on my side. I haven’t lost everything, of course. I thank God I didn’t throw away all of my wits, even having drunk as much as I did. But I can’t let my family go hungry when winter comes, and I don’t want to sell to anyone in my own village. It is hard enough on my pride that I have to do this.”

“You have children?” the man asks. For the first time, he appears at ease, as if this fact has made her father less of a snorting bull.

“Yes, no less than five. Three boys, a lovely girl. She is just there, do you see her with the other young women? I do not need to point her out to you. I know you will spot her. She is the most beautiful girl in the village. I intend to marry her well.”

“And the fifth?” the man asks.

“The fifth is…around somewhere. She is like one of those imps you tell your children about to frighten them so they will be good and say their prayers at night.” Jacques laughs, throws up his hands. Not my fault! Don’t look at me—I had no part in that! “If you saw her, you would see why her mother and I, we despair…” He sighs dramatically. From her branch, her hand twitches. She wants to throw the remainder of her cake at his head.

But the man offers a weak smile. “I understand,” he says. “I have children myself. They are six, five, and two.” He counts on his fingers. “Two boys and one daughter.”

“Well, shall we talk money? What will you give me for my pigs…” Her father slings an arm around the man’s shoulder, as if they were old friends. He steers him away from the tree. She hears murmurs, a few numbers thrown out, rejected, the price driven up.