hips, and a coarse shirt. He could not endure any constraint in his
clothes; and his skin, hardened by exposure, was sensitive to neither
heat nor cold. Even when over eighty he was accustomed to go bareheaded
in the broiling sun and with half-open shirt in the winter blasts.
Since Edmee had seen to his wants he had attained a certain cleanliness.
Nevertheless, in the disorder of his toilet and his hatred of everything
that passed the bounds of the strictest necessity (though he could not
have been charged with immodesty, which had always been odious to him),
the cynic of the old days was still apparent. His beard was shining like
silver. His bald skull was so polished that the moon was reflected in
it as in water. He walked slowly, with his hands behind his back and his
head raised, like a man who is surveying his empire. But most frequently
his glances were thrown skywards, and he interrupted his conversation to
point to the starry vault and exclaim:

"Look at that; look how beautiful it is!"

He is the only peasant I have ever known to admire the sky; or, at
least, he is the only one I have ever seen who was conscious of his
admiration.

"Why, Master Patience," I said to him, "do you think I might be an
honest man if I chose? Do you think that I am not one already?"

"Oh, do not be angry," he answered. "Patience is privileged to say
anything. Is he not the fool of the chateau?"

"On the contrary, Edmee maintains that you are its sage."

"Does the holy child of God say that? Well, if she believes so, I will