of being impoverished by adherence to old-fashioned practices, had fallen into the hands of an intelligent man who believed in progress, there would no doubt have been a fortune in it all.  But Lepailleur was not only disgusted with work, he treated the soil with contempt.  He indeed typified the peasant who has grown weary of his eternal mistress, the mistress whom his forefathers loved too much.  Remembering that, in spite of all their efforts to fertilize the soil, it had never made them rich or happy, he had ended by hating it.  All his faith in its powers had departed; he accused it of having lost its fertility, of being used up and decrepit, like some old cow which one sends to the slaughter-house.  And, according to him, everything went wrong:  the soil simply devoured the seed sown in it, the weather was never such as it should be, the seasons no longer came in their proper order.  Briefly, it was all a premeditated disaster brought about by some evil power which had a spite against the peasantry, who were foolish to give their sweat and their blood to such a thankless creature.

“Madame Lepailleur brought her boy with her, a little fellow three years old, called Antonin,” resumed Marianne, “and we fell to talking of children together.  She quite surprised me.  Peasant folks, you know, used to have such large families.  But she declared that one child was quite enough.  Yet she’s only twenty-four, and her husband not yet twenty-seven.”

These remarks revived the thoughts which had filled Mathieu’s mind all day.  For a moment he remained silent.  Then he said, “She gave you her reasons, no doubt?”

“Give reasons—­she, with her head like a horse’s, her long freckled face, pale eyes, and tight, miserly mouth—­I think she’s simply a fool, ever in admiration before her husband because he fought in Africa and reads the newspapers.  All that I could get out of her was that children cost one a good deal more than they bring in.  But the husband, no doubt, has ideas of his own.  You have seen him, haven’t you?  A tall, slim fellow, as carroty and as scraggy as his wife, with an angular face, green eyes, and prominent cheekbones.  He looks as though he had never felt in a good humor in his life.  And I understand that he is always complaining of his father-in-law, because the other had three daughters and a son.  Of course that cut down his wife’s dowry; she inherited only a part of her father’s property.  And, besides, as the trade of a miller never enriched his father, Lepailleur curses his mill from morning till night, and declares that he won’t prevent his boy Antonin from going to eat white bread in Paris, if he can find a good berth there when he grows up.”