"There you are right, thank God! Men are often rough to beasts, and very polite to Christians; but, in my opinion, we must be gentle and patient to both. A beast that works well deserves to be well treated, and Ragaud had no right to beat his ox. I don't say he would treat his wife so; but, at least, we must allow that Pierrette Ragaud does not always look as if her life were a holiday. Ah! she has trouble, that is very sure, poor creature!"
"And the reason?"
"The reason! Go and ask her, Magdaleine, if you are so curious."
"I wouldn't dare; for, after all, it don't concern me very much. What I have said was only in the way of friendly gossip."
"In that case, we can speak of other things; for I don't know any more about it than you. We will leave it for God to clear up. Go and catch your boy, who will fall into the pond, Magdaleine Piédau, and lend me your sickle, that I may cut some grass for my cows.... But to think that Ragaud ill-treats his wife—no, no; that is out of the question. After that, where may we hope to find a good man? One don't know...."
"No, neighbor, one never knows how it is with them. You speak like a priest, my good woman. The deceased Piédau, my man, that every one believed so good, ..."
"Good-evening, Magdaleine."
"Was a drunkard and big eater. I concealed it for ten years, and wept alone like the mistress of Muiceron."
"Good-evening, neighbor."