And yet how carefully and lovingly she still assembled around her her own
first brood, from Blaise and Denis the twins, now one-and-twenty, to the
last born, the wee creature who sucked in life from her bosom with greedy
lips. There were some of all ages in the brood--a big fellow, who was
already a father; others who went to school; others who still had to be
dressed in the morning; there were boys, Ambroise, Gervais, Gregoire, and
another; there were girls, Rose, nearly old enough to marry; Claire,
Louise, Madeleine, and Marguerite, the last of whom could scarcely
toddle. And it was a sight to see them roam over the estate like a troop
of colts, following one another at varied pace, according to their
growth. She knew that she could not keep them all tied to her
apron-strings; it would be sufficient happiness if the farm kept two or
three beside her; she resigned herself to seeing the younger ones go off
some day to conquer other lands. Such was the law of expansion; the earth
was the heritage of the most numerous race. Since they had number on
their side, they would have strength also; the world would belong to
them. The parents themselves had felt stronger, more united at the advent
of each fresh child.
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