"Yes," said she in a trembling voice, "there have been twelve, but I
have only ten left. Two are already sleeping yonder, waiting for us
underground."
There was no sign of dread, however, in that evocation of the peaceful
little cemetery of Janville and the family grave in which all the
children hoped some day to be laid, one after the other, side by side.
Rather did that evocation, coming amid that gay wedding assembly, seem
like a promise of future blessed peace. The memory of the dear departed
ones remained alive, and lent to one and all a kind of loving gravity
even amid their mirth. Was it not impossible to accept life without
accepting death. Each came here to perform his task, and then, his work
ended, went to join his elders in that slumber of eternity where the
great fraternity of humankind was fulfilled.
But in presence of those jesters, Beauchene and Seguin, quite a flood of
words rose to Mathieu's lips. He would have liked to answer them; he
would have liked to triumph over the mendacious theories which they still
dared to assert even in their hour of defeat. To fear that the earth
might become over-populated, that excess of life might produce famine,
was this not idiotic? Others only had to do as he had done: create the
necessary subsistence each time that a child was born to them.
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