most as if Mathieu with
the sweep of his arm not only cast the seed of expected corn into the
furrows, but also sowed those dear children, casting them here and there
without cessation, so that a whole nation of little sowers should spring
up and finish populating the world.

Two months more went by, and January had arrived with a hard frost,
when one day the Froments unexpectedly received a visit from Seguin and
Beauchene, who had come to try their luck at wild-duck shooting, among
such of the ponds on the plateau as had not yet been drained. It was a
Sunday, and the whole family was gathered in the roomy kitchen, cheered
by a big fire. Through the clear windows one could see the far-spreading
countryside, white with rime, and stiffly slumbering under that crystal
casing, like some venerated saint awaiting April's resurrection. And,
that day, when the visitors presented themselves, Gervais also was
slumbering in his white cradle, rendered somnolent by the season, but
plump even as larks are in the cold weather, and waiting, he also,
simply for life's revival, in order to reappear in all the triumph of
his acquired strength.

The family had gayly partaken of dejeuner, and now, before nightfall,
the four children had gathered round a table by the window, absorbed
in a playful occupation which delighted them. Helped by Ambroise, the
twins, Blaise and Denis, were building a whole village out of pieces of
cardboard, fixed together with paste. There were houses, a town hall,
a church, a school. And Rose, who had been forbidden to touch the
scissors, presided over the paste, with which she smeared herself even
to her hair. In the deep quietude, through which their laughter rang at
intervals, their father and mother had remained seated side by side in
front of the blazing fire, enjoying that delightful Sunday peace after
the week's hard work.

They lived there very simply, like genuine peasants, without any luxury,
any amusement, save that of being together. Their gay, bright kitchen
was redolent of that easy primitive life, lived so near the earth, which
frees one from fictitious wants, ambition, and the longing for pleasure.
And no fortune, no power could have brought such quiet delight as that
afternoon of happy intimacy, while the last-born slept so soundly and
quietly that one could not even hear him breathe.

Beauchene and Seguin broke in upon the quiet like unlucky sportsmen,
with their limbs weary and their faces a