You cannot pour more water in a pitcher than it will hold, and in a head more truth than it can understand.
Ragaud was ill at ease when he perceived mademoiselle's splendid white horses draw up before the church door. Only fancy that before the eyes of the entire parish those fine horses were used as much for Jeannette as for the daughter of M. le Marquis! It was precisely on a Sunday, a little before High Mass, that our friend, Jacques Michou, had offered his good advice; the moment was unpropitious, and Ragaud thus replied to his old comrade:
"Friend Jacques, I thank you for your words, as they are said with good intention; but I nevertheless believe that I have not arrived at my age without knowing how to manage my own affairs; which I say without wishing to offend you. As for dressing in serge, my daughter, being my only child, will have enough money to buy silk dresses if she should desire them; and that will not diminish her wealth. As for the pork, do you think it never appears on the tables of the nobility? Who knows to the contrary better than I? Twice a year M. le Marquis has a supply from Pierrette. Thus, my daughter will not lose at the château the taste of the meals at the farm. If we speak of rye bread, which is certainly the ordinary country food, we have ours half mixed with flour, that makes the bread as fine as the best made in the city. I can tell you that mademoiselle will not refuse it to Jeannette, as she often eats it herself; in proof of which she frequently sends to Muiceron for some, without inquiring whether the flour is fresh or stale. So you may rest quiet, and let each one act as he pleases."
And so, you see, without being impolite, a man can be made to feel his advice is despised.
We will now, if you please, leave Jeannette to parade her fine dresses in the château, like the linnets that sing and hop in the sun, never caring for sportsmen or nets, and return to Muiceron and Jean-Louis.
I think the dear fellow thought pretty much as Jacques Michou in relation to the little one; but it was in the secret of his heart, and, as his friends appeared happy, he asked nothing more. His character as a child, so gentle and devoted, did not change as he grew up. Different from Jeannette, who became a young lady without learning much, he remained a peasant, but advanced in knowledge like a schoolmaster. His love of books did not interfere with his rustic labors. After one year in class, M. le Curé was obliged to teach him alone, as he knew too much to go with the others. But as Ragaud could not do without an assistant on the farm, and disliked to take a stranger, Jeannet returned to Muiceron, contented himself with one lesson on Sunday, and studied by himself the rest of the week.
After his first communion, which, at his own request, was made rather late, but with perfect comprehension and a heart filled with love, he became still better. He was at that time a fine boy of thirteen, larger than usual for his age, with a handsome face, brunette complexion, and beautiful, large, dark eyes. M. le Marquis remarked his distinguished air, which meant that he did not resemble the other young village boys. The truth was, Jeannet, who always had lived a peasant, had the manner and bearing of a gentleman dressed from caprice in a blouse; and yet I can assure you it was neither vanity nor pretension that gave him that appearance.
Who would imagine that about this time he nearly committed a fault from excessive love of study? And nevertheless, it so happened in a way which you will soon understand. One day, M. le Curé, wishing to know how far this good child's mind could follow his, amused himself by explaining to him the Latin of his Breviary. Jean-Louis caught at this novelty like a fish at a bait. He became passionately fond of the language, and, as he had no time during the day, gave up the greater part of the night to its study. Now, the young need good, sound sleep; above all, when wearied with working in the fields. Ragaud soon understood it; I do not know how. He was very angry, and was not altogether wrong; for, besides the fact that Jeannet lost flesh every day, he was afraid of fire, as his room was next to the grain-loft. Ragaud scolded Jean-Louis; M. le Curé also came in for his share of reprimand; and for the first time these three persons, who had always agreed so perfectly, were very unhappy on each other's account.
"If you wish to wear the cassock," said Ragaud to his son, "say it. Although it will be a great sacrifice for me to lose your company and assistance, I will not prevent you from following your vocation. But if not, I beg of you to give up all this reading and writing, which keeps you up so late. I think that to tend the cows and till the earth, the village language is enough. You will know one day that for you, more than for others even, the work of the hands is more useful than that of the mind."
Thereupon he turned his back, and Jeannet, who was going to ask his pardon, and assure him of his submission, could not reply. As he was very quick under his quiet manner, he pondered all the rest of the day upon his father's last phrase. What did it mean? What was he to know one day? What harm was there in becoming learned, as he would eventually be rich? The poor boy suspected nothing; and yet from that moment a secret and profound sadness entered into his heart. He bundled up his books, and took them back to M. le Curé with many thanks. Our curé admired his obedience, and Jeannet profited by the opportunity to confide his grief to his dear friend.