‘Are you going to remain here among these rascals?’ ‘A moment or two, my friend; I want to see who are the malcontents. Bah! these people ask Heaven for food. Let Heaven give them rain and sunshine, and the earth yield her increase; who will profit thereby? Not they. Bah! Famine is not the result of the seasons, it is no natural phenomenon. It is good for the people to be kept on low diet, it humbles them; America bred fat cattle, and they have thrown off the yoke. What makes the famine, my boy? Why, _we_ make famine, and keep up famine, because the people must be retained in subjection.’ Berthier touched the old man to silence him; Lindet was close to them, and his glittering eye rested on the Intendant and his father-in-law. But Foulon took no notice of the touch, and he continued:--‘Bah! If they are hungry, let them browse grass. Wait till I am minister, I will make them eat hay; my horses eat it.’ Thomas Lindet heard the words as distinctly as did Berthier. A flush, deep as ruby, suffused his face, and he clenched his teeth, whilst a flame darted from his eyes. ‘Who is that devil?’ asked Foulon, with imperturbable calmness, of his son-in-law. ‘He is the priest of S. Cross, at Bernay. I owe him a grudge. Come out of this crush into the air, I am stifled.’ Berthier drew his father-in-law to the door. The weather was undergoing a change. To the west, above the hill, a semicircle or bow of white cloud, in which the sun made prismatic colours, edged a dense purple-black mass of darkness. It was like gazing into a hideous cavern whose mouth was fringed with fungus. ‘A storm is at hand,’ said Berthier; ‘it is approaching too rapidly for us to escape. We must remain here.’ An ash with scarlet berries grew opposite the west door, on high ground. This tree stood up against the advancing clouds like a tree of fire, so intense was the darkness within the bow of white. The leaves scarcely rustled; at intervals a puff of wind swept over the churchyard and shook the tree, but between the puffs the air was still. Gradually a peculiar smell, very faint, like the fume of a brick-kiln at a great distance, filled the air. The white vapourous fringe dissolved into coils of cloud, ropy, hanging together in bunches, and altering shape at each moment. A film ran over the sun, which was instantly shorn of its rays; a chill fell on the air, and a shadow overspread the ground; the ash turned grey, and everything that had been golden was transmuted into lead. From the church within sounded the organ, and the people chanting the Magnificat; and incense rose before the altar, on which six candles burned.