“Vigneau’s predecessor,” said Benassis, “was a good-for-nothing, a lazy rascal who cared about nothing by drink.  He had been a workman himself; he could keep a fire in his kiln and could put a price on his work, and that was about all he knew; he had no energy, and no idea of business.  If no one came to buy his wares of him, they simply stayed on hand and were spoiled, and so he lost the value of them.  So he died of want at last.  He had ill-treated his wife till she was almost idiotic, and she lived in a state of abject wretchedness.  It was so painful to see this laziness and incurable stupidity, and I so much disliked the sight of the tile-works, that I never came this way if I could help it.  Luckily, both the man and his wife were old people.  One fine day the tile-maker had a paralytic stroke, and I had him removed to the hospital at Grenoble at once.  The owner of the tile-works agreed to take it over without disputing about its condition, and I looked round for new tenants who would take their part in improving the industries of the canton.

“Mme. Gravier’s waiting-maid had married a poor workman, who was earning so little with the potter who employed him that he could not support his household.  He listened to my advice, and actually had sufficient courage to take a lease of our tile-works, when he had not so much as a penny.  He came and took up his abode here, taught his wife, her aged mother, and his own mother how to make tiles, and made workmen of them.  How they managed, I do not know, upon my honor!  Vigneau probably borrowed fuel to heat his kiln, he certainly worked by day, and fetched in his materials in basket-loads by night; in short, no one knew what boundless energy he brought to bear upon his enterprise; and the two old mothers, clad in rags, worked like negroes.  In this way Vigneau contrived to fire several batches, and lived for the first year on bread that was hardly won by the toil of his household.

“Still, he made a living.  His courage, patience, and sterling worth interested many people in him, and he began to be known.  He was indefatigable.  He would hurry over to Grenoble in the morning, and sell his bricks and tiles there; then he would return home about the middle of the day, and go back again to the town at night.  He seemed to be in several places at once.  Towards the end of the first year he took two little lads to help him.  Seeing how things were, I lent him some money, and since then from year to year the fortunes of the family have steadily improved.  After the second year was over the two old mothers no longer moulded bricks nor pounded stones; they looked after the little gardens, made the soup, mended the clothes, they did spinning in the evenings, and gathered firewood in the daytime; while the young wife, who can read and write, kept the accounts.  Vigneau had a small horse, and rode on his business errands about the neighborhood; next he thoroughly studied the art of brick and tile