“Oh! papa won’t say anything,” he declared, with no little self-assurance; “they are far too beautiful.”

This made the others laugh; but fresh emotion ensued, for Benjamin and Guillaume awoke and screamed their hunger aloud.  It was gayly remarked, however, that they were quite entitled to their turn of feasting.  And as it was simply a family gathering there was no embarrassment on the part of the mothers.  Marianne took Benjamin on her knees in the shade of the oak tree, and Charlotte placed herself with Guillaume on her right hand; while, on her left, Andree seated herself with little Leonce, who had been weaned a week previously, but was still very fond of caresses.

It was at this moment that the Beauchenes and the Seguins reappeared with Mathieu, and stopped short, struck by the charm of the spectacle before them.  Between a framework of tall trees, under the patriarchal oak, on the thick grass of the lawn the whole vigorous family was gathered in a group, instinct with gayety, beauty, and strength.  Gervais and Claire, ever active, were, with Frederic, hurrying on the servants, who made no end of serving the coffee on the table which had just been cleared.  For this table the three younger girls, half buried in a heap of flowers, tea and blush and crimson roses, were now, with the help of knight Gregoire, devising new decorations.  Then, a few paces away, the bridal pair, Denis and Marthe, were conversing in undertones; while the bride’s mother, Madame Desvignes, sat listening to them with a discreet and infinitely gentle smile upon her lips.  And it was in the midst of all this that Marianne, radiant, white of skin, still fresh, ever beautiful, with serene strength, was giving the breast to her twelfth child, her Benjamin, and smiling at him as he sucked away; while surrendering her other knee to little Nicolas, who was jealous of his younger brother.  And her two daughters-in-law seemed like a continuation of herself.  There was Andree on the left with Ambroise, who had stepped up to tease his little Leonce; and Charlotte on the right with her two children, Guillaume, who hung on her breast, and Berthe, who had sought a place among her skirts.  And here, faith in life had yielded prosperity, ever-increasing, overflowing wealth, all the sovereign florescence of happy fruitfulness.

Seguin, addressing himself to Marianne, asked her jestingly:  “And so that little gentleman is the fourteenth you have nursed?”

She likewise laughed.  “No; I mustn’t tell fibs!  I have nursed twelve, including this one; that is the exact number.”

Beauchene, who had recovered his self-possession, could not refrain from intervening once more:  “A full dozen, eh!  It is madness!”

“I share your opinion,” said Mathieu, laughing in his turn.  “At all events, if it is not madness it is extravagance, as we admit, my wife and I, when we are alone.  And we certainly don’t think that all people ought to have such large families as ours.  But, given the situation in France nowadays, with our population dwindling and that of nearly every other country increasing, it is hardly possible to complain of even the largest family.  Thus, even if our example be exaggerated, it remains an example, I think, for others to think over.”