er there, Denis,
Ambroise, Gervais, Gregoire, the four big brothers, and Claire, the big
sister, all reconciled and again invincible, increased when Charlotte
arrived, bringing with her the other three daughters, Louise, Madeleine,
and Marthe, who had married and settled in the district. Louise, having
heard that her mother was ill, had gone to fetch her sisters, in order
that they might repair to Chantebled together. And what a hearty laugh
there was when the procession entered!

"Let them all come!" cried Ambroise, in a jocular way. "Let's have the
family complete, a real meeting of the great privy council. You see,
mamma, you must get well at once; the whole of your court is at your
knees, and unanimously decides that it can no longer allow you to have
even a headache."

Then, as Benjamin put in an appearance the very last, behind the three
sisters, the laughter broke out afresh.

"And to think that we were forgetting Benjamin!" Mathieu exclaimed.

"Come, little one, come and kiss me in your turn," said Marianne
affectionately, in a low voice. "The others jest because you are the
last of the brood. But if I spoil you that only concerns ourselves, does
it not? Tell them that you spent the morning with me, and that if you
went out for a walk it was because I wished you to do so."

Benjamin smiled with a gentle and rather sad expression. "But I was
downstairs, mamma; I saw them go up one after the other. I waited for
them all to kiss, before coming up in my turn."

He was already one-and-twenty and extremely handsome, with a bright
face, large brown eyes, long curly hair, and a frizzy, downy beard.
Though he had never been ill, his mother would have it that he was weak,
and insisted on coddling him. All of them, moreover, were very fond
of him, both for his grace of person and the gentle charm of his
disposition. He had grown up in a kind of dream, full of a desire which
he could not put into words, ever seeking the unknown, something which
he knew not, did not possess. And when his parents saw that he had no
taste for any profession, and that even the idea of marrying did
not appeal to him, they evinced no anger, but, on the contrary, they
secretly plotted to keep this son, their last-born, life's final gift,
to themselves. Had they not surrendered all the others? Would they not
be forgiven for yielding to the egotism of love by reserving one for
themselves, one who would be theirs entirely, who would never marry