I lay awake near him, because, churl as he appeared, I felt the advantage of any human companionship in these beast-haunted thickets. At last the light of dawn penetrated a little to where we rested, and when it was broad enough to distinguish objects by, I rolled upon my elbow and scrutinised my companion closely. “Good morrow, then, burner of charcoal.” He turned to me, a leering smile suspended on his lips. “_Comment?_” said he. “But I am a palmist, my friend, as you observe.” He looked at his stunted and blackened fists. “Ah! _si fait vraiment_. That is to tell my past condition of poverty, not my fortune.” “The rest shall come. Observe my fitness for my post. You are from the forests of Nontron.” He started and stared. “Truly I have no love for spies,” he muttered, dismayed. It was my turn to laugh. I had hazarded a bold guess. That he was from the woods rather than from the Landes his gift of seeing through the darkness convinced me. Then, if from the woods, why not from that part of the province where they stretched thickest and most meet for his trade? “Now,” said I, “for what follows. It comes to your ears that Guienne is hatching a fine breed of maggots from the carcasses of dead aristocrats; that there is a feast of rich fragments toward. You will have your share; you will eat of these aristocrats that have so long fed on you. That is a very natural resolve. But in a Republic of maggots, as in all other communities, there is always a proportion of the brood that will fatten unduly at the expense of its fellows. These despots by constitution appropriate the most succulent parts; they wax thick and strong, and, finally, they alone of the swarm hatch out into flies, while the rest perish undeveloped.” “It is a cursed parable,” he said, sullenly. “I do not comprehend you.” “I speak of the people, my friend--of whom you are not one that will fatten.” “And why, and why?” “You have scruples. You decry at the outset the methods of this select clique of the Republic that has the instinct to prosper. If I congratulate you on the possession of a conscience, I must deplore in anticipation the sacrifice of yet another martyr to that truism which history repeats as often as men forget it.” “What truism, sayst thou?” “That swinish Fortune will love the lusty bully that drains her, though the bulk of the litter starve.” He spat savagely on the ground. “I do not comprehend,” he muttered again. “Well,” I said, “at least let us hope there is an especial Paradise reserved for the undeveloped maggots.” He rose and stood brooding a moment; then looked away from me and cried morosely, “Get up!” To my astonishment, from a sort of cradle of roots to the farther side of the tree a young girl scrambled to her feet at his call, and stood yawning and eyeing me loweringly. “Your daughter?” said I. “Yes,” he answered, “she is my daughter. What then?” I jumped up in some suppressed excitement.