flinching, a deeply
tanned complexion, and rough brown hair. His movements were like a
bird's--swift, decided, and unconstrained; his clothing was ragged; the
white, fair skin showed through the rents in his garments. There they
both stood in silence, side by side, both obeying the same impulse; in
both faces were clear tokens of an absolutely identical and idle life.
The old man had adopted the child's amusements, and the child had fallen
in with the old man's humor; there was a sort of tacit agreement between
two kinds of feebleness, between failing powers well-nigh spent and
powers just about to unfold themselves.

Very soon a woman who seemed to be about thirty years old appeared on
the threshold of the door, spinning as she came. She was an Auvergnate,
a high-colored, comfortable-looking, straightforward sort of person,
with white teeth; her cap and dress, the face, full figure, and general
appearance, were of the Auvergne peasant stamp. So was her dialect; she
was a thorough embodiment of her district; its hardworking ways, its
thrift, ignorance, and heartiness all met in her.

She greeted Raphael, and they began to talk. The dogs quieted down;
the old man went and sat on a bench in the sun; the child followed his
mother about wherever she went, listening without saying a word, and
staring at the stranger.

"You are not afraid to live here, good woman?"

"What should we be afraid of, sir? When we bolt the door, who ever could
get inside? Oh, no, we aren't afraid at all. And besides," she said,
as she brought the Marquis into the principal room in the house, "what
should thieves come to take from us here?"

She designated the room as she spoke; the smoke-blackened walls, with
some brilliant pictures in blue, red, and green, an "End of Credit," a
Crucifixion, and the "Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard" for their
sole ornament; the furniture here and there, the old wooden four-post
bedstead, the table with crooked legs, a few stools, the chest that
held the bread, the flitch that hung from the ceiling, a jar of salt, a
stove, and on the mantleshelf a few discolored yellow plaster figures.
As he went out again Raphael noticed a man half-way up the crags,
leaning on a hoe, and watching the house with interest.

"That's my man, sir," said the Auvergnate, unconsciously smiling in
peasant fashion; "he is at work up there."

"And that old man is your father?"

"Asking your pardon, sir, he is my man's grandfather.