happy home beside their parents, as well
as the three youngest boys, Gregoire, the free lance, Nicolas, the most
stubborn and determined of the brood, and Benjamin, who was of a dreamy
nature. All these finished growing up at the edge of the nest, so to
say, with the window of life open before them, ready for the day when
they likewise would take wing.

With them dwelt Charlotte, Blaise's widow, and her two children, Berthe
and Guillaume, the three of them occupying an upper floor of the house
where the mother had installed her studio. She was becoming rich since
her little share in the factory profits, stipulated by Denis, had been
increasing year by year; but nevertheless, she continued working for
her dealer in miniatures. This work brought her pocket-money, she gayly
said, and would enable her to make her children a present whenever they
might marry. There was, indeed, already some thought of Berthe
marrying; and assuredly she would be the first of Mathieu and Marianne's
grandchildren to enter into the state of matrimony. They smiled softly
at the idea of becoming great-grandparents before very long perhaps.

After the lapse of four years, Gregoire, first of the younger children,
flew away. There was a great deal of trouble, quite a little drama in
connection with the affair, which Mathieu and Marianne had for some
time been anticipating. Gregoire was anything but reasonable. Short, but
robust, with a pert face in which glittered the brightest of eyes, he
had always been the turbulent member of the family, the one who caused
the most anxiety. His childhood had been spent in playing truant in
the woods of Janville, and he had afterwards made a mere pretence of
studying in Paris, returning home full of health and spirits, but unable
or unwilling to make up his mind with respect to any particular trade
or profession. Already four-and-twenty, he knew little more than how
to shoot and fish, and trot about the country on horseback. He was
certainly not more stupid or less active than another, but he seemed
bent on living and amusing himself according to his fancy. The worst was
that for some months past all the gossips of Janville had been
relating that he had renewed his former boyish friendship with Therese
Lepailleur, the miller's daughter, and that they were to be met of an
evening in shady nooks under the pollard-willows by the Yeuse.

One morning Mathieu, wishing to ascertain if the young coveys of
partridges were