was not without dignity; in fact, it
resembled the well-known brow given by all painters to Saint Peter,
the man of the people, the roughest, but withal the shrewdest, of the
apostles. His hands were those of an indefatigable worker,--large,
thick, square, and wrinkled with deep furrows. His chest was of
seemingly indestructible muscularity. He never relinquished his
peddler's costume,--thick, hobnailed shoes; blue stockings knit by his
wife and hidden by leather gaiters; bottle-green velveteen trousers; a
checked waistcoat, from which depended the brass key of his silver watch
by an iron chain which long usage had polished till it shone like steel;
a jacket with short tails, also of velveteen, like that of the trousers;
and around his neck a printed cotton cravat much frayed by the rubbing
of his beard.

On Sundays and fete-days Sauviat wore a frock-coat of maroon cloth, so
well taken care of that two new ones were all he bought in twenty years.
The living of galley-slaves would be thought sumptuous in comparison
with that of the Sauviats, who never ate meat except on the great
festivals of the Church. Before paying out the money absolutely needed
for their daily subsistence, Madame Sauviat would feel in the two
pockets hidden between her gown and petticoat, and bring forth a
single well-scraped coin,--a crown of six francs, or perhaps a piece
of fifty-five sous,--which she would gaze at for a long time before she
could bring herself to change it. As a general thing the Sauviats ate
herrings, dried peas, cheese, hard eggs in salad, vegetables seasoned in
the cheapest manner. Never did they lay in provisions, except perhaps
a bunch of garlic or onions, which could not spoil and cost but little.
The small amount of wood they burned in winter they bought of itinerant
sellers day by day. By seven in winter, by nine in summer, the household
was in bed, and the shop was closed and guarded by a huge dog, which got
its living from the kitchens in the neighborhood. Madame Sauviat used
about three francs' worth of candles in the course of the year.

The sober, toilsome life of these persons was brightened by one joy, but
that was a natural joy, and for it they made their only known outlays.
In May, 1802, Madame Sauviat gave birth to a daughter. She was confined
all alone, and went about her household work five days later. She nursed
her child in the open air, seated as usual in her chair by the corner
pillar, continuing to sel