randmother speak of him;
she believed he was a sorcerer."

Exactly so; and while we are at this point let me tell you what sort of
a man this Patience really was, for I shall have to speak of him more
than once in the course of my story. I had opportunities of studying him
thoroughly.

Patience, then, was a rustic philosopher. Heaven had endowed him with
a keen intellect, but he had had little education. By a sort of strange
fatality, his brain had doggedly resisted the little instruction he
might have received. For instance, he had been to the Carmelite's school
at ----, and instead of showing any aptitude for work, he had played
truant with a keener delight than any of his school-fellows. His was
an eminently contemplative nature, kindly and indolent, but proud and
almost savage in its love of independence; religious, yet opposed to
all authority; somewhat captious, very suspicious, and inexorable with
hypocrites. The observances of the cloister inspired him with but little
awe; and as a result of once or twice speaking his mind too freely to
the monks he was expelled from the school. From that time forth he was
the sworn foe of what he called monkism, and declared openly for the
cure of the Briantes, who was accused of being a Jansenist. In the
instruction of Patience, however, the cure succeeded no better than the
monks. The young peasant, endowed though he was with herculean strength
and a great desire for knowledge, displayed an unconquerable aversion
for every kind of work, whether physical or mental. He professed a sort
of artless philosophy which the cure found it very difficult to argue
against. There was, he said, no need for a man to work as long as he did
not want money; and he was in no need of money as long as his wants were
moderate. Patience practised what he preached: during the years when
passions are so powerful he lived a life of austerity, drank nothing
but water, never entered a tavern, and never joined in a dance. He was
always very awkward and shy with women, who, it must be owned, found
little to please in his eccentric character, stern face, and somewhat
sarcastic wit. As if to avenge himself for this by showing his contempt,
or to console himself by displaying his wisdom, he took a pleasure, like
Diogenes of old, in decrying the vain pleasures of others; and if at
times he was to be seen passing under the branches in the middle of the
fetes, it was merely to throw out some shaft of scorn, a