“Pied d’Alouette,” said M. Bergeret, “they say you are a queer sort of vagabond and that, even when you are in absolute want, you never steal anything. Yet you live with evil-doers and you are the friend of murderers.”
Pied d’Alouette answered:
“There are some who think one thing and others who think another. But if I myself thought of doing wrong, I should dig a hole under a tree on Duroc Hill and bury my knife at the bottom of the hole. Then I should pound down the earth on top of it with my feet. For when people have the notion of doing wrong, it’s the knife that leads them on. It’s also pride which leads them on. As for me, I lost my pride when I was a lad, for men, women and children in my own parts all made fun of me.”
“And have you never had wicked, violent thoughts?”
“Sometimes, when I came upon women alone on the roads, for the fancy I had for them. But that’s all over now.”
“And that fancy never comes back to you?”
“Time and again it does.”
“Pied d’Alouette, you love liberty and you are free. You live without toil. I call you a happy man.”
“There are some happy folks. But not me.”
“Where are these happy folks, then?”