by the Mahes; a family which happened to
establish itself there and which grew vigorous at the foot of the cliff.
These Mahes continued to prosper at first, marrying continually among
themselves, for during centuries one finds none but Mahes there. Then
under Louis XIII appeared one Floche. No one knew too much of where
he came from.. He married a Mahe, and from that time a phenomenon
was brought forth; the Floches in their turn prospered and multiplied
exceedingly, so that they ended little by little in absorbing the Mahes,
whose numbers diminished until their fortune passed entirely into the
hands of the newcomers. Without doubt, the Floches brought new blood,
more vigorous physical organs, a temperament which adapted itself better
to that hard condition of high wind and of high sea. At any rate, they
are to-day masters of Coqueville.

It can easily be understood that this displacement of numbers and of
riches was not accomplished without terrible disturbances. The Mahes and
the Hoches detest each other. Between them is a hatred of centuries. The
Mahes in spite of their decline retain the pride of ancient conquerors.
After all they are the founders, the ancestors. They speak with contempt
of the first Floche, a beggar, a vagabond picked up by them from
feelings of pity, and to have given away one of their daughters to
whom was their eternal regret. This Floche, to hear them speak, had
engendered nothing but a descent of libertines and thieves, who pass
their nights in raising children and their days in coveting legacies.
And there is not an insult they do not heap upon the powerful tribe of
Floche, seized with that bitter rage of nobles, decimated, ruined, who
see the spawn of the bourgeoisie master of their rents and of their
chateau. The Floches, on their side, naturally have the insolence of
those who triumph. They are in full possession, a thing to make them
insolent. Full of contempt for the ancient race of the Mahes, they
threaten to drive them from the village if they do not bow their heads.
To them they are starvelings, who instead of draping themselves in their
rags would do much better to mend them.

So Coqueville finds itself a prey to two fierce factions--something like
one hundred and thirty inhabitants bent upon devouring the other fifty
for the simple reason that they are the stronger.

The struggle between two great empires has no other history.

Among the quarrels which have lately upset Coqueville