Then Mathieu, deeply moved, turned towards the others, saying:  “Ah! she is quite right.  I only wish that every mother could hear her, and make it the fashion in France once more to suckle their infants.  It would be sufficient if it became an ideal of beauty.  And, indeed, is it not of the loftiest and brightest beauty?”

The Angelins complaisantly began to laugh, but they did not seem convinced.  Just as they rose to take their leave an extraordinary uproar burst forth beneath the window, the piercing clamor of little wildings, freely romping in the fields.  And it was all caused by Ambroise throwing a ball, which had lodged itself on a tree.  Blaise and Denis were flinging stones at it to bring it down, and Rose called and jumped and stretched out her arms as if she hoped to be able to reach the ball.  The Angelins stopped short, surprised and almost nervous.

“Good heavens!” murmured Claire, “what will it be when you have a dozen?”

“But the house would seem quite dead if they did not romp and shout,” said Marianne, much amused.  “Good-by, my dear.  I will go to see you when I can get about.”

The months of March and April proved superb, and all went well with Marianne.  Thus the lonely little house, nestling amid foliage, was ever joyous.  Each Sunday in particular proved a joy, for the father did not then have to go to his office.  On the other days he started off early in the morning, and returned about seven o’clock, ever busily laden with work in the interval.  And if his constant perambulations did not affect his good-humor, he was nevertheless often haunted by thoughts of the future.  Formerly he had never been alarmed by the penury of his little home.  Never had he indulged in any dream of ambition or wealth.  Besides, he knew that his wife’s only idea of happiness, like his own, was to live there in very simple fashion, leading a brave life of health, peacefulness, and love.  But while he did not desire the power procured by a high position and the enjoyment offered by a large fortune, he could not help asking himself how he was to provide, were it ever so modestly, for his increasing family.  What would he be able to do, should he have other children; how would he procure the necessaries of life each time that a fresh birth might impose fresh requirements upon him?  One situated as he was must create resources, draw food from the earth step by step, each time a little mouth opened and cried its hunger aloud.  Otherwise he would be guilty of criminal improvidence.  And such reflections as these came upon him the more strongly as his penury had increased since the birth of Gervais—­to such a point, indeed, that Marianne, despite prodigies of economy, no longer knew how to make her money last her till the end of the month.  The slightest expenditure had to be debated; the very butter had to be spread thinly on the children’s bread; and they had to continue wearing their blouses till they were well-nigh threadbare.  To increase the