The Harvesters

I am the nephew of the good Monsieur Candor.

I know it well.

He loves you.

He loves us!
If it were true!

Me, much more even,
And I am another version of him.
Yes, I will take care of your fate.
Come... how! are you distrustful?

Mama says that it is the safest way.

It must be that you have a hard heart.
You fear the pleasure of being grateful.

My mother would certainly justify me well.
What she does for me makes me happy:
My tenderness never falters in anything,
And if I owed you, I would become ashamed of it.

My dear child, you are wrong.

Allow me to go find my mother.
She is already on in years, and it is with effort
That she takes on toil contrary to her health.
I am young enough to work still.
Reserve for her the good that you wish to do for me.

That is not possible.

I understand, for once.
You have no pity for the old.

Not much.