‘We must live,’ answered the peasant, fiercely. ‘Answer me this. Does not the sailor risk life for a small wage; does not the soldier jeopardy his for a gay coat and a liard a day? Is it not the mission of men--I do not mean of nobles, they are not men, they are gods--to labour and struggle for a subsistence in the midst of perils? Shall not my child, then, run some risks to win enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger in our vitals? Does not the doctor venture his health for the sake of a fee, and shall not this girl risk her honour to save her life?’ ‘You imperil both your soul and hers.’ Matthias shrugged his shoulders. Lindet strode up to him, caught his shoulders in his palms, and jerked his head upwards; their eyes met for a second, and in that second Lindet mastered his dogged humour. André threw it aside, and straightening himself, he beat his hands together, and cried out in an altered tone, full of bitterness and pain,-- ‘My God! what are we poor but the cattle of the rich? We are theirs; what is the good of our attempting to resist their will? They possess our earnings, our labour, our life, our honour; ay! our souls are theirs, to ruin them if they like. Can anything I may do protect poor Gabrielle from M. Berthier, or any other great man who shall cast his lustful eyes on her? No. Let things take their course. Perhaps God will right our wrongs at the judgment. I wait for that. Thy kingdom come!’ he exclaimed, throwing up his hands to the sky. ‘And till then,--if it be God’s will that we should be the prey of the powerful,--that they should eat us up, and pollute our honour,--why, His will be done, we must even bear it.’ ‘Do you love your daughter?’ asked Lebertre. ‘As much as I can afford,’ answered André, relapsing into his moody humour. ‘You do love her,’ said Lindet; ‘but you love yourself better.’ Matthias looked furtively at him. ‘I love her, indeed,’ he said, sadly; ‘but I have no thoughts for anything but how to stave off the great enemy.’ ‘What great enemy?’ asked Lebertre. ‘Hunger,’ answered the peasant, passionately. ‘The child shall not take her flowers to the Château Malouve any more,’ said Lindet, firmly. ‘She shall take them instead to my brother Robert, and he will buy them. Mind, _instead_, not besides.’ ‘Yes, monsieur!’ answered André. ‘Indeed, I do not desire that evil should befall my dear child, but hunger is imperious; and oh! last winter was so terrible, that I dare not face another such, so destitute of means as I have been.’ Dusk had by this time settled in, and the curés walked homewards. Their roads lay together as far as La Couture, which is almost a suburb of Bernay, and was, according to antiquaries, the original parish church of that town, before the erection of S. Cross.