“The beggar, moreover, is hardly worse off than the day-labourer; probably he is better off.  He is no longer troubled with pride, whether estimable or foolish; he has no longer to suffer.  The folks in his part of the country are good to him; there is not a beggar that wants for a bed or supper as he goes his round.  The peasants load him with bits of bread, to such an extent that he has enough to feed both poultry and pigs in the little hovel where he has left a child and an old mother to look after his animals.  Every week he returns there and spends two or three days, doing nothing except counting the pennies that have been given him.  These poor coins often serve to satisfy the superfluous wants which idleness breeds.  A peasant rarely takes snuff; many beggars cannot do without it; they ask for it more eagerly than for bread.  So the beggar is no more to be pitied than the labourer; but he is corrupt and debauched, when he is not a scoundrel and a brute, which, in truth, is seldom enough.

“‘This, then, is what ought to be done,’ I said to Edmee; ’and the abbe tells me that this is also the idea of your philosophers.  You who are always ready to help the unfortunate, should give without consulting the special fancies of the man who asks, but only after ascertaining his real wants.’

“Edmee objected that it would be impossible for her to obtain the necessary information; that she would have to give her whole time to it, and neglect the chevalier, who is growing old and can no longer read anything without his daughter’s eyes and head.  The abbe was too fond of improving his mind from the writings of the wise to have time for anything else.

“‘That is what comes of all this study of virtue!’ I said to her; ’it makes a man forget to be virtuous.’

“‘You are quite right,’ answered Edmee; ‘but what is to be done?’

“I promised to think it over; and this is how I went to work.  Instead of taking my walks as usual in the direction of the woods, I paid a visit every day to the small holdings.  It cost me a great effort; I like to be alone; and everywhere I had shunned my fellow-men for so many years that I had lost touch with them.  However, this was a duty and I did it.  I went to various houses, and by way of conversation, first of all over hedges, and then inside the houses themselves, I made inquiries as to those points which I wanted to learn.  At first they gave me a welcome such as they would give to a lost dog in time of drought; and with a vexation I could scarce conceal I noticed the hatred and distrust on all their faces.  Though I had not cared to live among other men, I still had an affection for them; I knew that they were unfortunate rather than vicious; I had spent all my time in lamenting their woes and railing against those that caused them; and when for the first time I saw a possibility of doing something for some of them, these very men shut their doors the very moment they caught sight of me in the