thropy, we may envy the
fate of the savage, and prefer that of the bird to such as he; but
impartial observation soon does justice to such paradoxes. We find, on
examination, that in the mixed good and evil of human nature, the good
so far abounds that we are not in the habit of noticing it, while the
evil strikes us precisely on account of its being the exception. If
nothing is perfect, nothing is so bad as to be without its compensation
or its remedy. What spiritual riches are there in the midst of the evils
of society! how much does the moral world redeem the material!

That which will ever distinguish man from the rest of creation, is his
power of deliberate affection and of enduring self-sacrifice. The mother
who took care of her brood in the corner of my window devoted to
them the necessary time for accomplishing the laws which insure the
preservation of her kind; but she obeyed an instinct, and not a
rational choice. When she had accomplished the mission appointed her
by Providence, she cast off the duty as we get rid of a burden, and
she returned again to her selfish liberty. The other mother, on the
contrary, will go on with her task as long as God shall leave her here
below: the life of her son will still remain, so to speak, joined to her
own; and when she disappears from the earth, she will leave there that
part of herself.

Thus, the affections make for our species an existence separate from
all the rest of creation. Thanks to them, we enjoy a sort of terrestrial
immortality; and if other beings succeed one another, man alone
perpetuates himself.

CHAPTER IX. THE FAMILY OF MICHAEL AROUT

September 15th, Eight O'clock

This morning, while I was arranging my books, Mother Genevieve came in,
and brought me the basket of fruit I buy of her every Sunday. For the
nearly twenty years that I have lived in this quarter, I have dealt in
her little fruit-shop. Perhaps I should be better served elsewhere, but
Mother Genevieve has but little custom; to leave her would do her harm,
and cause her unnecessary pain. It seems to me that the length of our
acquaintance has made me incur a sort of tacit obligation to her; my
patronage has become her property.

She has put the basket upon my table, and as I want her husband, who is
a joiner, to add some shelves to my bookcase, she has gone downstairs
again immediately to send him to me.

At first I did not notice either her looks or the sound of her voice:
but, no