hes which are quite white, with roses as big as cabbages."

Then he flushed and became confused, for his father was eyeing him
severely.

"What! do you still prowl round the mill?" said Mathieu. "I had
forbidden you to do so. As you know that there are white roses in the
enclosure you must have gone in, eh?"

"No; I looked over the wall."

"You climbed up the wall, that's the finishing touch! So you want
to land me in trouble with those Lepailleurs, who are decidedly very
foolish and very malicious people. There is really a devil in you, my
boy."

That which Gregoire left unsaid was that he repaired to the enclosure
in order that he might there join Therese, the miller's fair-haired
daughter with the droll, laughing face, who was also a terribly
adventurous damsel for her thirteen years. True, their meetings were but
childish play, but at the end of the enclosure, under the apple trees,
there was a delightful nook where one could laugh and chat and amuse
oneself at one's ease.

"Well, just listen to me," Mathieu resumed. "I won't have you going to
play with Therese again. She is a pretty little girl, no doubt. But
that house is not a place for you to go to. It seems that they fight one
another there now."

This was a fact. When that young scamp Antonin had recovered his health,
he had been tormented by a longing to return to Paris, and had done all
he could with that object, in view of resuming a life of idleness and
dissipation. Lepailleur, greatly irritated at having been duped by his
son, had at first violently opposed his plans. But what could he do in
the country with that idle fellow, whom he himself had taught to hate
the earth and to sneer at the old rotting mill. Besides, he now had
his wife against him. She was ever admiring her son's learning, and so
stubborn was her faith in him that she was convinced that he would this
time secure a good position in the capital. Thus the father had been
obliged to give way, and Antonin was now finally wrecking his life while
filling some petty employment at a merchant's in the Rue du Mail. But,
on the other hand, the quarrelling increased in the home, particularly
whenever Lepailleur suspected his wife of robbing him in order to send
money to that big lazybones, their son. From the bridge over the Yeuse
on certain days one could hear oaths and blows flying about. And here
again was family life destroyed, strength wasted, and happiness spoilt.

Carried off by perfe