bounded by
the roofs of the drying-shed, and near this last the yawning mouth of
the kiln was visible. Some long-handled shovels lay about the worn cider
path. A second row of buildings had been erected parallel with these.
There was a sufficiently wretched dwelling which housed the family, and
some outbuildings--sheds and stables and a barn. The cleanliness that
predominated throughout, and the thorough repair in which everything was
kept, spoke well for the vigilance of the master's eyes. Some poultry
and pigs wandered at large over the field.

"Vigneau's predecessor," said Benassis, "was a good-for-nothing, a lazy
rascal who cared about nothing by drink. He had been a workman himself;
he could keep a fire in his kiln and could put a price on his work, and
that was about all he knew; he had no energy, and no idea of business.
If no one came to buy his wares of him, they simply stayed on hand and
were spoiled, and so he lost the value of them. So he died of want at
last. He had ill-treated his wife till she was almost idiotic, and she
lived in a state of abject wretchedness. It was so painful to see this
laziness and incurable stupidity, and I so much disliked the sight of
the tile-works, that I never came this way if I could help it. Luckily,
both the man and his wife were old people. One fine day the tile-maker
had a paralytic stroke, and I had him removed to the hospital at
Grenoble at once. The owner of the tile-works agreed to take it over
without disputing about its condition, and I looked round for new
tenants who would take their part in improving the industries of the
canton.

"Mme. Gravier's waiting-maid had married a poor workman, who was earning
so little with the potter who employed him that he could not support his
household. He listened to my advice, and actually had sufficient courage
to take a lease of our tile-works, when he had not so much as a penny.
He came and took up his abode here, taught his wife, her aged mother,
and his own mother how to make tiles, and made workmen of them. How they
managed, I do not know, upon my honor! Vigneau probably borrowed fuel to
heat his kiln, he certainly worked by day, and fetched in his materials
in basket-loads by night; in short, no one knew what boundless energy
he brought to bear upon his enterprise; and the two old mothers, clad in
rags, worked like negroes. In this way Vigneau contrived to fire several
batches, and lived for the first year on bread that wa