would surely be justified, for their stock of money was
fast decreasing. But judged by something that was
far more profound, by the reason that animated the
spirit, this desertion of Anfos was terrible indeed,
though less for the servant than for the master.
'My father,5 he cried, at that moment unable to
pause and consider what he was saying, 'my father,
it cannot, it must not be. Anfos would die of grief
if he left us. You dare not betray him because of
our want. Ah, but listen, my father, Anfos feels love,
and those who feel love — even if they are mad —
become one with God. Will you drive God away?
Will you make Him suffer because we are poor?5
The words sounded preposterous, ridiculous, crazy,
and hearing them Christophe came near to despair:
CI cannot put it quite clearly . . .5 he stammered.
Then Jouse turned with rage on his son: 'But yes,
but yes, you have put it too clearly. Very well do I
understand what this means; you care more for that
madman than for your parents. You care more for
Anfos, it seems, than for Loup who goes short of his
food because of the man. A fine story! Would you
have me believe that your God expects me to starve
my own flesh and blood in order that I may nourish
a stranger? Bien, then I say that you also are mad!
I will not keep the fellow, no, by God I will not, if I
have to drive him into the street, if I have to fling him
out with these hands . . .* The rasping voice suddenly
choked and stopped as Jouse pitched forward and
crashed to the ground like a tree beneath the last
blow of the woodsman.
They heard the thud of his fall and rushed in,
Marie and Loup and the terrified Anfos. And a mighty
man indeed Jouse looked, lying there with his bulk
outstretched on the floor near his work-bench among
the sawdust and shavings. Marie knelt down beside
him, stroking his forehead with fingers that neither