give their sweat and their blood to such a thankless creature.

"Madame Lepailleur brought her boy with her, a little fellow three years
old, called Antonin," resumed Marianne, "and we fell to talking of
children together. She quite surprised me. Peasant folks, you know, used
to have such large families. But she declared that one child was quite
enough. Yet she's only twenty-four, and her husband not yet
twenty-seven."

These remarks revived the thoughts which had filled Mathieu's mind all
day. For a moment he remained silent. Then he said, "She gave you her
reasons, no doubt?"

"Give reasons--she, with her head like a horse's, her long freckled face,
pale eyes, and tight, miserly mouth--I think she's simply a fool, ever in
admiration before her husband because he fought in Africa and reads the
newspapers. All that I could get out of her was that children cost one a
good deal more than they bring in. But the husband, no doubt, has ideas
of his own. You have seen him, haven't you? A tall, slim fellow, as
carroty and as scraggy as his wife, with an angular face, green eyes, and
prominent cheekbones. He looks as though he had never felt in a good
humor in his life. And I understand that he is always complaining of his
father-in-law, because the other had three daughters and a son. Of course
that cut down his wife's dowry; she inherited only a part of her father's
property. And, besides, as the trade of a miller never enriched his
father, Lepailleur curses his mill from morning till night, and declares
that he won't prevent his boy Antonin from going to eat white bread in
Paris, if he can find a good berth there when he grows up."

Thus, even among the country folks, Mathieu found a small family the