The gardener, the butcher, the farmers, the house-wives, the schoolmasters, the carpenter, the truffle-hunter, and I know not whom besides, were all in turn called upon to lend a hand, which they did with the best grace in the world, each according to his means and his speciality. It is amusing to see the worthy villagers of Sérignan wondering at the naturalist’s questions, and ostensibly flattering themselves that they know more than he does of worm-eaten vegetables. On the other hand, they often consult him, thereby making amends and affording a practical recognition of “his knowledge concerning plants and little creatures.” A late frost came during the night, withering the leaf-buds of the mulberry-trees just as the first leaves were unfolding. On the following day there was a great commotion in the neighbouring farm-houses; the silkworms were hatched, and suddenly there was no food for them. They must wait until the sun repaired the disaster. But what were they to do to keep the famished newly-born caterpillars alive for a few days? They knew me as an expert in the matter of plants; my cross-country harvesting expeditions had won me the reputation of a medical herbalist. With the flower of the poppy I prepared an elixir which strengthened the sight; with borage I made a syrup sovereign against whooping-cough; I distilled camomile, I extracted the essence of wintergreen. In short, my botany had given me the reputation of a quack-salver. That was something, after all.... The housewives came seeking me from all directions; with tears in their eyes they explained how matters stood. What could they give their grubs while they were waiting for the mulberry to leaf again? A serious affair this, well deserving of commiseration. One was counting on her litter to buy a roll of linen for her daughter who was about to get married; another confided to me her plan of buying a pig, which she would fatten for the following winter; all deplored the handful of five-franc pieces, which, placed at the bottom of the secret hiding-place in the wardrobe, in an old stocking, would have afforded relief in difficult times. Full of their woes, they unfolded before my eyes a scrap of flannel on which the little creatures were swarming: “Regardas, Moussu; venoun espeli, et ren per lour douna! Ah! pecaïré!”