ms, and the
idea of morality and the idea of beauty might be changed.

Full of these thoughts Mathieu was already opening his mouth to speak.
But all at once he felt how futile discussion would be in presence of
that admirable scene; that mother surrounded by such a florescence of
vigorous children; that mother nursing yet another child, under the big
oak which she had planted. She was bravely accomplishing her task--that
of perpetuating the world. And hers was the sovereign beauty.

Mathieu could think of only one thing that would express everything, and
that was to kiss her with all his heart before the whole assembly.

"There, dear wife! You are the most beautiful and the best! May all the
others do as you have done."

Then, when Marianne had gloriously returned his kiss, there arose an
acclamation, a tempest of merry laughter. They were both of heroic
mould; it was with a great dash of heroism that they had steered their
bark onward, thanks to their full faith in life, their will of action,
and the force of their love. And Constance was at last conscious of
it: she could realize the conquering power of fruitfulness; she could
already see the Froments masters of the factory through their son Denis;
masters of Seguin's mansion through their son Ambroise; masters, too, of
all the countryside through their other children. Numbers spelt victory.
And shrinking, consumed with a love which she could never more satisfy,
full of the bitterness of her defeat, though she yet hoped for some
abominable revenge of destiny, she--who never wept!--turned aside to
hide the big hot tears which now burnt her withered cheeks.

Meantime Benjamin and Guillaume were enjoying themselves like greedy
little men whom nothing could disturb. Had there been less laughter
one might have heard the trickling of their mothers' milk: that little
stream flowing forth amid the torrent of sap which upraised the earth
and made the big trees quiver in the powerful July blaze. On every side
fruitful life was conveying germs, creating and nourishing. And for its
eternal work an eternal river of milk flowed through the world.

XIX

ONE Sunday morning Norine and Cecile--who, though it was rightly a day
of rest, were, nevertheless, working on either side of their little
table, pressed as they were to deliver boxes for the approaching New
Year season--received a visit which left them pale with stupor and
fright.

Their unknown hidden life had hithe