“Does he ever speak to him of God?” said the priest.

“Oh, no, no!  Monsieur le cure, I don’t tell him to fear God, but men.  God is good; he has promised us poor folks, so you say, the kingdom of heaven, because the rich people keep the earth to themselves.  I tell him:  ’Mouche! fear the prison, and keep out of it,—­for that’s the way to the scaffold.  Don’t steal anything, make people give it to you.  Theft leads to murder, and murder brings down the justice of men.  The razor of justice,—­that’s what you’ve got to fear; it lets the rich sleep easy and keeps the poor awake.  Learn to read.  Education will teach you ways to grab money under cover of the law, like that fine Monsieur Gaubertin; why, you can even be a land-steward like Monsieur Sibilet here, who gets his rations out of Monsieur le comte.  The thing to do is to keep well with the rich, and pick up the crumbs that fall from their tables.’  That’s what I call giving him a good, solid education; and you’ll always find the little rascal on the side of the law,—­he’ll be a good citizen and take care of me.”

“What do you mean to make of him?” asked Blondet.

“A servant, to begin with,” returned Fourchon, “because then he’ll see his masters close by, and learn something; he’ll complete his education, I’ll warrant you.  Good example will be a fortune to him, with the law on his side like the rest of you.  If M’sieur le comte would only take him in his stables and let him learn to groom the horses, the boy will be mighty pleased, for though I’ve taught him to fear men, he don’t fear animals.”

“You are a clever fellow, Pere Fourchon,” said Blondet; “you know what you are talking about, and there’s sense in what you say.”

“Oh, sense? no; I left my sense at the Grand-I-Vert when I lost those silver pieces.”

“How is it that a man of your capacity should have dropped so low?  As things are now, a peasant can only blame himself for his poverty; he is a free man, and he can become a rich one.  It is not as it used to be.  If a peasant lays by his money, he can always buy a bit of land and become his own master.”

“I’ve seen the olden time and I’ve seen the new, my dear wise gentleman,” said Fourchon; “the sign over the door has changed, that’s true, but the wine is the same,—­to-day is the younger brother of yesterday, that’s all.  Put that in your newspaper!  Are we poor folks free?  We still belong to the same parish, and its lord is always there,—­I call him Toil.  The hoe, our sole property, has never left our hands.  Let it be the old lords or the present taxes which take the best of our earnings, the fact remains that we sweat our lives out in toil.”

“But you could undertake a business, and try to make your fortune,” said Blondet.