It was the resistless conquest of life; it was fruitfulness spreading in
the sunlight; it was labor ever incessantly pursuing its work of creation
amid obstacles and suffering, ever making good all losses, and at each
succeeding hour setting more energy, more health, and more joy in the
veins of the world.
But during those two years, while Chantebled grew, while labor and worry
and victory alternated, Mathieu suddenly found himself mixed up in a
terribly tragedy. He was obliged to come to Paris at times--more often
indeed than he cared--now through his business relations with Seguin, now
to sell, now to buy, now to order one thing or another. He often
purchased implements and appliances at the Beauchene works, and had thus
kept up intercourse with Morange, who once more seemed a changed man.
Time had largely healed the wound left by his wife's death, particularly
as she seemed to live again in Reine, to whom he was more attached than
ever. Reine was no longer a child; she had become a woman. Still her
father hoped to keep her with him some years yet, while working with all
diligence, saving and saving every penny that he could spare, in order to
increase her dowry.
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