Manon raised her head, and her eyes seemed to see something.
“Why do you come to me, monsieur?”
“You have gone back to Beaucourt.”
“In a sense, yes.”
“You are rebuilding—you are one of those with courage.”
“I have hope, monsieur, and I have had good luck.”
Anatole Durand’s eyes glistened.
“Life is like this, madame; there are those who work and create; there are those who wait and grumble. Some people sit still and say, ‘What a tragedy! What can we do? When is the Government going to help us?’ Those people will not rebuild Beaucourt; they will not bring back the smile and the good sweat to all that poor desert.”
“You think as I think, Monsieur Durand.”
He gave an audacious and triumphant little wave of the hands.