event us from getting rich, and afterwards destroy whatever
we create by subdividing it. With our laws and customs there can be no
substantial fortune unless a family is limited to one son. And yes, that
is necessary; but one son--an only son--that is the only wise course;
therein lies the only possible happiness."

It became so painful to hear him, in his position, speaking in that
fashion, that the others remained silent, full of embarrassment. And
he, thinking that he was convincing them, went on triumphantly: "Thus, I
myself--"

But at this moment Constance interrupted him. She had hitherto walked
on with bowed head amid that flow of chatter which brought her so much
torture and shame, an aggravation, as it were, of her defeat. But now
she raised her face, down which two big tears were trickling.

"Alexandre!" she said.

"What is it, my dear?"

He did not yet understand. But on seeing her tears, he ended by feeling
disturbed, in spite of all his fine assurance. He looked at the others,
and wishing to have the last word, he added: "Ah, yes! our poor child.
But particular cases have nothing to do with general theories; ideas are
still ideas."

Silence fell between them. They were now near the lawn where the family
had remained. And for the last moment Mathieu had been thinking of
Morange, whom he had also invited to the wedding, but who had excused
himself from attending, as if he were terrified at the idea of gazing
on the joy of others, and dreaded, too, lest some sacrilegious attempt
should be made in his absence on the mysterious sanctuary where he
worshipped. Would he, Morange--so Mathieu wondered--have clung like
Beauchene to his former ideas? Would he still have defended the theory
of the only child; that hateful, calculating theory which had cost him
both his wife and his daughter? Mathieu could picture him flitting
past, pale and distracted, with the step of a maniac hastening to some
mysterious end, in which insanity would doubtless have its place. But
the lugubrious vision vanished, and then again before Mathieu's eyes
the lawn spread out under the joyous sun, offering between its belt of
foliage such a picture of happy health and triumphant beauty, that he
felt impelled to break the mournful silence and exclaim:

"Look there! look there! Isn't that gay; isn't that a delightful
scene--all those dear women and dear children in that setting of
verdure? It ought to be painted to show people how healthy