eing a daughter born to her son
Blaise, even while she herself was expecting another child. The branches
of the huge tree had begun to fork, pending the time when they would
ramify endlessly, like the branches of some great royal oak spreading
afar over the soil. There would be her children's children, her
grandchildren's children, the whole posterity increasing from generation
to generation. And yet how carefully and lovingly she still assembled
around her her own first brood, from Blaise and Denis the twins, now
one-and-twenty, to the last born, the wee creature who sucked in life
from her bosom with greedy lips. There were some of all ages in the
brood--a big fellow, who was already a father; others who went to
school; others who still had to be dressed in the morning; there were
boys, Ambroise, Gervais, Gregoire, and another; there were girls, Rose,
nearly old enough to marry; Claire, Louise, Madeleine, and Marguerite,
the last of whom could scarcely toddle. And it was a sight to see them
roam over the estate like a troop of colts, following one another at
varied pace, according to their growth. She knew that she could not keep
them all tied to her apron-strings; it would be sufficient happiness if
the farm kept two or three beside her; she resigned herself to seeing
the younger ones go off some day to conquer other lands. Such was the
law of expansion; the earth was the heritage of the most numerous race.
Since they had number on their side, they would have strength also; the
world would belong to them. The parents themselves had felt stronger,
more united at the advent of each fresh child. If in spite of terrible
cares they had always conquered, it was because their love, their toil,
the ceaseless travail of their heart and will, gave them the victory.
Fruitfulness is the great conqueress; from her come the pacific heroes
who subjugate the world by peopling it. And this time especially, when
at the lapse of those two years Marianne gave birth to a boy, Nicolas,
her eleventh child, Mathieu embraced her passionately, triumphing over
every sorrow and every pang. Yet another child; yet more wealth and
power; yet an additional force born into the world; another field ready
for to-morrow's harvest.

And 'twas ever the great work, the good work, the work of fruitfulness
spreading, thanks to the earth and thanks to woman, both victorious over
destruction, offering fresh means of subsistence each time a fresh child
was bor