"He means the tower of Babel," thought Desnoyers to himself, "but it's
all the same thing to the old man."

"I believe," he rambled on, "that we live thus because in this part
of the world there are no kings and a very small army--and mankind is
thinking only of enjoying itself as much as possible, thanks to its
work. But I also believe that we live so peacefully because there is
such abundance that everyone gets his share. . . . How quickly we would
spring to arms if the rations were less than the people!"

Again he fell into reflective silence, shortly after announcing the
result of his meditations.

"Be that as it may be, we must recognize that here life is more tranquil
than in the other world. Men are taken for what they are worth, and
mingle together without thinking whether they came from one country or
another. Over here, fellows do not come in droves to kill other fellows
whom they do not know and whose only crime is that they were born in an
unfriendly country. . . . Man is a bad beast everywhere, I know that;
but here he eats, owns more land than he needs so that he can stretch
himself, and he is good with the goodness of a well-fed dog. Over there,
there are too many; they live in heaps getting in each other's way, and
easily run amuck. Hurrah for Peace, Frenchy, and the simple life! Where
a man can live comfortably and runs no danger of being killed for things
he doesn't understand--there is his real homeland!"

And as though an echo of the rustic's reflections, Karl seated at the
piano, began chanting in a low voice one of Beethoven's hymns--