llage after offering
their cheeks to be kissed. No doubt they were unable to understand
what pleasure there could possibly be there, for, suppressing a jeering
laugh, they shook their heads. To them it was really an extraordinary
life, a life of most singular taste.

"Come and see my little Gervais," said Marianne softly. "He is asleep;
mind, you must not wake him."

For politeness' sake they both bent over the cradle, and expressed
surprise at finding a child but ten months old so big. He was very
good, too. Only, as soon as he should wake, he would no doubt deafen
everybody. And then, too, if a fine child like that sufficed to make
life happy, how many people must be guilty of spoiling their lives! The
visitors came back to the fireside, anxious only to be gone now that
they felt enlivened.

"So it's understood," said Mathieu, "you won't stay to dinner with us?"

"Oh, no, indeed!" they exclaimed in one breath.

Then, to attenuate the discourtesy of such a cry, Beauchene began to
jest, and accepted the invitation for a later date when the warm weather
should have arrived.

"On my word of honor, we have business in Paris," he declared. "But
I promise you that when it's fine we will all come and spend a day
here--yes, with our wives and children. And you will then show us your
work, and we shall see if you have succeeded. So good-by! All my good
wishes, my dear fellow! Au revoir, cousin! Au revoir, children; be
good!"

Then came more kisses and hand-shakes, and the two men disappeared. And
when the gentle silence had fallen once more Mathieu and Marianne
again found themselves in front of the bright fire, while the children
completed the building of their village with a great consumption of
paste, and Gervais continued sleeping soundly. Had they been dreaming?
Mathieu wondered. What sudden blast from all the shame and suffering of
Paris had blown into their far-away quiet? Outside, the country retained
its icy rigidity. The fire alone sang the song of hope in life's future
revival. And, all at once, after a few minutes' reverie the young man
began to speak aloud, as if he had at last just found the answer to all
sorts of grave questions which he had long since put to himself.

"But those folks don't love; they are incapable of loving! Money, power,
ambition, pleasure--yes, all those things may be theirs, but not love!
Even the husbands who deceive their wives do not really love their
mistresses. They have never