Moreover, quite apart from the great dream of those seers, the poets, Nicolas, like a practical man, whatever his enthusiasm, gayly gave his reasons for departing.  He did not wish to be a parasite; he was setting off to the conquest of another land, where he would grow the bread he needed, since his own country had no field left for him.  Besides, he took his country with him in his blood; she it was that he wished to enlarge afar off with unlimited increase of wealth and strength.  It was ancient Africa, the mysterious, now explored, traversed from end to end, that attracted him.  In the first instance he intended to repair to Senegal, whence he would doubtless push on to the Soudan, to the very heart of the virgin lands where he dreamt of a new France, an immense colonial empire, which would rejuvenate the old Gallic race by endowing it with its due share of the earth.  And it was there that he had the ambition of carving out a kingdom for himself, and of founding with Lisbeth another dynasty of Froments, and a new Chantebled, covering under the hot sun a tract ten times as extensive as the old one, and peopled with the people of his own children.  And he spoke of all this with such joyous courage that Mathieu and Marianne ended by smiling amid their tears, despite the rending of their poor hearts.

“Go, my lad, we cannot keep you back.  Go wherever life calls you, wherever you may live with more health and joy and strength.  All that may spring from you yonder will still be health and joy and strength derived from us, of which we shall be proud.  You are right, one must not weep, your departure must be a fete, for the family does not separate, it simply extends, invades, and conquers the world.”

Nevertheless, on the day of farewell, after the marriage of Nicolas and Lisbeth there was an hour of painful emotion at Chantebled.  The family had met to share a last meal all together, and when the time came for the young and adventurous couple to tear themselves from the maternal soil there were those who sobbed although they had vowed to be very brave.  Nicolas and Lisbeth were going off with little means, but rich in hopes.  Apart from the ten thousand francs of the wife’s dowry they had only been willing to take another ten thousand, just enough to provide for the first difficulties.  Might courage and labor therefore prove sturdy artisans of conquest.

Young Benjamin, the last born of the brothers Froment, was particularly upset by this departure.  He was a delicate, good-looking child not yet twelve years old, whom his parents greatly spoiled, thinking that he was weak.  And they were quite determined that they would at all events keep him with them, so handsome did they find him with his soft limpid eyes and beautiful curly hair.  He was growing up in a languid way, dreamy, petted, idle among his mother’s skirts, like the one charming weakling of that strong, hardworking family.

“Let me kiss you again, my good Nicolas,” said he to his departing brother.  “When will you come back?”