They lived there very simply, like genuine peasants, without any luxury,
any amusement, save that of being together. Their gay, bright kitchen was
redolent of that easy primitive life, lived so near the earth, which
frees one from fictitious wants, ambition, and the longing for pleasure.
And no fortune, no power could have brought such quiet delight as that
afternoon of happy intimacy, while the last-born slept so soundly and
quietly that one could not even hear him breathe.
Beauchene and Seguin broke in upon the quiet like unlucky sportsmen, with
their limbs weary and their faces and hands icy cold. Amid the
exclamations of surprise which greeted them, they complained of the folly
that had possessed them to venture out of Paris in such bleak weather.
"Just fancy, my dear fellow," said Beauchene, "we haven't seen a single
duck! It's no doubt too cold. And you can't imagine what a bitter wind
blows on the plateau, amid those ponds and bushes bristling with icicles.
So we gave up the idea of any shooting. You must give us each a glass of
hot wine, and then we'll get back to Paris."
Seguin, who was in even a worse humor, stood before the fire trying to
thaw himself; and while Marianne made haste to warm some wine, he began
to speak of the cleared fields which he had skirted.
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