and, within two or three years’ time, make them the most fertile land in the district.  That which belonged to him did not belong to others, and people would soon see that he was well able to defend the property which had fallen to his lot.  Things took a similar course with respect to the mill, where Gregoire at first contented himself with repairing the old mechanism, for he was unwilling to upset the miller’s habits all at once, and therefore postponed until some future time the installation of an engine, and the laying down of a line of rails to Janville station—­all those ideas formerly propounded by Mathieu which henceforth fermented in his audacious young mind.

In this wise, then, people found themselves in presence of a new Gregoire.  The madcap had become wise, only retaining of his youthful follies the audacity which is needful for successful enterprise.  And it must be said that he was admirably seconded by the fair and energetic Therese.  They were both enraptured at now being free to love each other in the romantic old mill, garlanded with ivy, pending the time when they would resolutely fling it to the ground to install in its place the great white meal stores and huge new mill-stones, which, with their conquering ambition, they often dreamt of.

During the years that followed, Mathieu and Marianne witnessed other departures.  The three daughters, Louise, Madeleine, and Marguerite, in turn took their flight from the family nest.  All three found husbands in the district.  Louise, a plump brunette, all gayety and health, with abundant hair and large laughing eyes, married notary Mazaud of Janville, a quiet, pensive little man, whose occasional silent smiles alone denoted the perfect satisfaction which he felt at having found a wife of such joyous disposition.  Then Madeleine, whose chestnut tresses were tinged with gleaming gold, and who was slimmer than her sister, and of a more dreamy style of beauty, her character and disposition refined by her musical tastes, made a love match which was quite a romance.  Herbette, the architect, who became her husband, was a handsome, elegant man, already celebrated; he owned near Monvel a park-like estate, where he came to rest at times from the fatigue of his labors in Paris.

At last, Marguerite, the least pretty of the girls—­indeed, she was quite plain, but derived a charm from her infinite goodness of heart—­was chosen in marriage by Dr. Chambouvet, a big, genial, kindly fellow, who had inherited his father’s practice at Vieux-Bourg, where he lived in a large white house, which had become the resort of the poor.  And thus the three girls being married, the only ones who remained with Mathieu and Marianne in the slowly emptying nest were their two last boys, Nicolas and Benjamin.