birth; and this he had done to please his wife, feeling
that he could refuse her nothing. Marie had begged
him to go into the mountains and bring home the poor
orphan of whom the priest wrote with so much com-
passionate affection.
•He is not really mad/ the good priest had written,
'he is rather one of those who have never strayed from
the path of childish innocence; and what did our
dear Lord Jesus say? "Except ye become as little
children." Therefore now that both his parents are
dead I must write to you, dear Madame Benedit, for
you it was whom his mother spoke of as perhaps being
willing to befriend her son, and this she did, Madame,
when she lay dying. . . /
So Marie had sent Jouse off to the mountains — a
long, tedious journey right up into the Maures, on a
spur of which rested the little village where Anfos
had lived in great poverty all the days of his short and
harmless existence. And since Jouse's last apprentice
had but lately left him to find more lucrative employ-
ment at Aries, Marie had begged him to train this
youth whom the priest had assured her was not really
mad but rather one of those little ones who were
always welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven. Jouse
had shaken his curly head and had nibbled the tip
of his beard in misgiving.
cAnd what if he saw off his finger or his thumb? Can
I let a poor half-wit play with sharp tools? Would it
not be better to inquire of our Cure where we could
put the boy to be cared for?'
But Marie had set her mild lips quite firmly: That
no. His mother was my cousin and my friend, and
although I had not seen her for years, I cannot forget
that we were girls together. Moreover I am sure that
Saint Loup desires us to make a home for this unhappy
creature/
Then Jouse had known that words would be vain,
3°