All sorts of vague plans then rose
within him, uncertain reveries of such vast scope, such singularity, that
he had as yet spoken of them to nobody, not even his wife. Others would
doubtless have mocked at him, for he had as yet but reached that dim,
quivering hour when inventors feel the gust of their discovery sweep over
them, before the idea that they are revolving presents itself with full
precision to their minds. Yet why did he not address himself to the soil,
man's everlasting provider and nurse? Why did he not clear and fertilize
those far-spreading lands, those woods, those heaths, those stretches of
stony ground which were left sterile around him? Since it was just that
each man should bring his contribution to the common weal, create
subsistence for himself and his offspring, why should not he, at the
advent of each new child, supply a new field of fertile earth which would
give that child food, without cost to the community? That was his sole
idea; it took no more precise shape; at the thought of realizing it he
was carried off into splendid dreams.
The Froments had been in the country fully a month when one evening
Marianne, wheeling Gervais's little carriage in front of her, came as far
as the bridge over the Yeuse to await Mathieu, who had promised to return
early.
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