A man who was passing, with a whip in his hand, and wearing wooden shoes, stopped near the child, took it up, and kissed it.  Then one of the women rose up, and came across to him.  She was a big, red-haired girl, with large hips, waist, and shoulders, a tall Norman woman, with yellow hair in which there was a blood-red tint.

She said, in a resolute voice: 

“Here you are, Cesaire—­well?”

The man, a thin young fellow with a melancholy air, murmured: 

“Well, nothing at all—­always the same.”

“He won’t have it?”

“He won’t have it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you say I ought to do?”

“Go see the cure.”

“I will.”

“Go at once!”

“I will.”

And they stared at each other.  He held the child in his arms all the time.  He kissed it once more, and then put it down again on the woman’s clothes.

In the distance, between two farm-houses, could be seen a plow drawn by a horse, and driven along by a man.  They moved on very gently, the horse, the plow, and the laborer, under the dim evening sky.

The woman went on: 

“What, then, did your father say?”

“He said he would not have it.”

“Why wouldn’t he have it?”

The young man pointed towards the child whom he had just put back on the ground, then with a glance he drew her attention to the man drawing the plow yonder there.

And he said emphatically: 

“Because ’tis his—­this child of yours.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders, and in an angry tone said: 

“Faith everyone knows it well—­that it is Victor’s.  And what about it after all?  I made a slip.  Am I the only woman that did?  My mother also made a slip before me, and then yours did the same before she married your dad!  Who is it that hasn’t made a slip in the country.  I made a slip with Victor, because he took advantage of me while I was asleep in the barn, it’s true, and afterwards it happened between us when I wasn’t asleep.  I certainly would have married him if he weren’t a servant-man.  Am I a worse woman for that?”

The man said simply: 

“As for me, I like you just as you are, with or without the child.  ’Tis only my father that opposes me.  All the same, I’ll see about settling the business.”

She answered: 

“Go to the cure at once.”

“I’m going to him.”

And he set forth with his heavy peasant’s tread; while the girl, with her hands on her hips, turned round to pick her colza.

In fact, the man who thus went off, Cesaire Houlbreque, the son of deaf old Amable Houlbreque, wanted to marry in spite of his father, Celeste Levesque, who had a child by Victor Lecoq, a mere laborer on his parent’s farm, turned out of doors for this act.

Moreover, the hierarchy of caste does not exist in the fields, and if the laborer is thrifty, he becomes, by taking a farm in his turn, the equal of his former master.