"Frederick Bastien, monsieur, and his good angel of a mother is buried with him."
"You are weeping, my good man."
"Yes, monsieur, as all weep who knew that angel mother and her son."
"They were, then, much loved by the people of the country?"
"Wait, monsieur; do you see that tall fine castle down there?"
"The Castle of Pont Brillant?"
"The young marquis and his grandmother are richer than the king. Good year or bad year, they give a great deal of money to the poor, and yet, if the name of the young marquis is mentioned among the good people of the valley once, the names of Frederick Bastien and his mother are mentioned a hundred times."
"And why is that?"
"Because, instead of money, which they did not have, the mother gave the poor her kind heart, and the half of her bread, and the son, when it was necessary, his life to save the life of others, as I and mine can testify, without counting other families whom he rescued at the risk of his own life at the great overflow two years ago. So, you see, monsieur, the name of the good saint of the country will endure longer in the valley than the grand Castle of Pont Brillant. Castles crumble to the ground, while our children's children will learn from their fathers the name of Frederick Bastien."