al growth, and simply strew the weeds with ruins!

They returned to the nave, and were overcome by the frightful sadness
which this assassination of a monument provoked. The spacious plot of
waste ground inside was littered with the remains of scaffoldings, which
had been pulled down when half rotten, in fear lest their fall might
crush people; and everywhere amidst the tall grass were boards, put-logs,
moulds for arches, mingled with bundles of old cord eaten away by damp.
There was also the long narrow carcase of a crane rising up like a
gibbet. Spade-handles, pieces of broken wheelbarrows, and heaps of
greenish bricks, speckled with moss and wild convolvuli in bloom, were
still lying among the forgotten materials. In the beds of nettles you
here and there distinguished the rails of a little railway laid down for
the trucks, one of which was lying overturned in a corner. But the
saddest sight in all this death of things was certainly the portable
engine which had remained in the shed that sheltered it. For fifteen
years it had been standing there cold and lifeless. A part of the roof of
the shed had ended by falling in upon it, and now the rain drenched it at
every shower. A bit of the leather harness by which the crane was worked
hung down, and seemed to bind the engine like a thread of some gigantic
spider's web. And its metal-work, its steel and copper, was also
decaying, as if rusted by lichens, covered with the vegetation of old
age, whose yellowish patches made it look like a very ancient,
grass-grown machine which the winters had preyed upon. This lifeless
engine, this cold engine with its empty firebox and its silent boiler,
was like the very soul of the departed labour vainly awaiting the advent
of some great charitable heart, whose coming through the eglantine and
the brambles would awaken this sleeping church in the wood from its heavy
slumber of ruin.

At last Doctor Chassaigne spoke: "Ah!" he said, "when one thinks that
fifty thousand francs would have sufficed to prevent such a disaster!
With fifty thousand francs the roof could have been put on, the heavy
work would have been saved, and one could have waited patiently. But they
wanted to kill the work just as they had killed the man." With a gesture
he designated the Fathers of the Grotto, whom he avoided naming. "And to
think," he continued, "that their annual receipts are eight hundred
thousand francs. However, they prefer to send presents to Rome to