nything about this calamity, Cocoleu.

He was well known among them, and for many years.

There was not one among them who had not given him a piece of bread, or
a bowl of soup, when he was hungry; not one of them had ever refused
him a night's rest on the straw in his barn, when it was raining or
freezing, and the poor fellow wanted a shelter.

For Cocoleu was one of those unfortunate beings who labor under a
grievous physical or moral deformity.

Some twenty years ago, a wealthy land-owner in Brechy had sent to the
nearest town for half a dozen painters, whom he kept at his house nearly
a whole summer, painting and decorating his newly-built house. One of
these men had seduced a girl in the neighborhood, whom he had bewitched
by his long white blouse, his handsome brown mustache, his good spirits,
gay songs, and flattering speeches. But, when the work was done, the
tempter had flown away with the others, without thinking any more of the
poor girl than of the last cigar which he had smoked.

And yet she was expecting a child. When she could no longer conceal
her condition, she was turned out of the house in which she had been
employed; and her family, unable to support themselves, drove her away
without mercy. Overcome with grief, shame, and remorse, poor Colette
wandered from farm to farm, begging, insulted, laughed at, beaten even
at times. Thus it came about, that in a dark wood, one dismal winter
evening, she gave life to a male child. No one ever understood how
mother and child managed to survive. But both lived; and for many a year
they were seen in and around Sauveterre, covered with rags, and living
upon the dear-bought generosity of the peasants.

Then the mother died, utterly forsaken by human help, as she had lived.
They found her body, one morning, in a ditch by the wayside.

The child survived alone. He was then eight years old, quite strong
and tall for his age. A farmer took pity on him, and took him home.
The little wretch was not fit for anything: he could not even keep
his master's cows. During his mother's lifetime, his silence, his wild
looks, and his savage appearance, had been attributed to his wretched
mode of life. But when people began to be interested in him, they found
out that his intellect had never been aroused. He was an idiot, and,
besides, subject to that terrible nervous affection which at times
shakes the whole body and disfigures the face by the violence of
uncontrollable conv