"To do that they must be rascals, and on the contrary they are honest men. You see, a man is what other men make him. Old Boisguilbault is never robbed, although nothing in the world would be easier; but as he neither worries nor pushes any one, no one has any occasion to deceive him or to take any more than belongs to him. He isn't like your father. He reckons and disputes and watches every one closely, and consequently his people steal from him, and always will: that's the kind of business he will do all his life." Jean succeeded in diverting Emile's thoughts, and almost in consoling him. That upright, bold, decided character had an excellent influence over him, and he went to bed with a more tranquil mind, after receiving his promise that he would let him know on the following evening how Gilberte's people felt toward him. Jean was confident of his ability to open their eyes concerning his conduct and Monsieur Cardonnet's. Sorrow makes us weak and trustful, and when our courage fails us, we can find nothing better to do than place our fate in the hands of an energetic and resolute person. If he does not solve the embarrassing problems of our position so easily as he flatters himself that he can do, at all events the contact with him strengthens and revivifies us; his confidence insensibly passes into us and makes us capable of assisting ourselves. "This peasant, whom my father despises," thought Emile as he fell asleep, "this poor, ignorant, simple-hearted man has done me more good than Monsieur de Boisguilbault did; and when I asked God for an adviser, a support, a savior, He sent the poorest and humblest of His servants to mark out my duty in two words. Oh! what force the truth has in the mouths of those men whose instincts are upright and pure! and how profitless is all our knowledge compared with that of the heart! Father! father! more than ever I feel that you are blinded, and the lesson I have received from this peasant condemns you more than all the rest." Although mentally more tranquil, Emile had a sharp attack of fever in the night. Amid the violent upheavals of the mind, we forget to care for and preserve the body. We allow ourselves to be exhausted by hunger, surprised by cold and dampness, when we are reeking with perspiration or burning with fever. We do not feel the approach of physical disease, and when it has fastened itself upon us, there is a sort of relief from the change from mental suffering. At such times we flatter ourselves that we cannot be unhappy long without dying of it, and there is some comfort in believing oneself too weak to endure never-ending sorrow.