“Well, then He doesn’t know His own mind. Or rather I believe He cannot do as He likes. It is easy enough to manage one man,--there is no difficulty about that, but when He has a crowd to deal with, that is another pair of shoes. What can one do against many? So man falls back on his Mother Earth, who whispers to him of fleshly things. In the old legend, if you remember, there are times when men become wolves, and then get into their old skins again. Ah! my friend, there is more truth in many an old song than in your Mass-book. Every man in the country wears his wolf skin; States, Kings, and Ministers may dress themselves up with shepherd’s crooks as much as they please, and claim descent, like the hypocrites they are, from your Good Shepherd; they are really all lynxes, bulls, jaws, and bellies, always crying for food, and for the best of reasons; they must satisfy the hunger of the earth.” “You are a raving heathen,” said Chamaille. “God sends the wolves like the rest, and He does all things well. Did you never hear that the Blessed Virgin had a little garden where cabbages grew, and Jesus, they say, made the wolf to keep off the goats and the kids? No doubt He was right, and we can only bow to His will. Why should we complain of the strong? It would be a thousand times worse if the weak were raised to power, so in conclusion all are for the best, sheep and wolves alike. The sheep need the wolves to protect them, and the wolves need the sheep, still more, for we all must eat. So now, Colas, off I go to my cabbages.” He confided Madelon tenderly to my care, tucked up his gown, grasped his cudgel, and made off; though the night was dark and moonless. We were not quite so merry for the next few days. We had foolishly stuffed ourselves the first evening, just to show off and from stupid greediness, so there was but little left of our provisions. We had to draw in our belts, which was soon done, but we still had some swagger in us. When the puddings were all gone, we made some stuffed with bran and tarred strings which we stuck on a pike and dangled before the enemy. The rogues soon saw through it, though, for a ball caught one of our puddings fair in the middle, and who had the laugh on his side then? Not we, I vow, and to cap the climax when these robbers saw that we were fishing over the top of our wall, they stretched nets from the locks up and down the river to catch the fry. Our Archbishop reprimanded them for bad Christians who would not let us keep Lent, but in vain, so we had to fall back on our own fat.