Nicolas and Lisbeth were going off with little means, but rich in hopes.
Apart from the ten thousand francs of the wife's dowry they had only been
willing to take another ten thousand, just enough to provide for the
first difficulties. Might courage and labor therefore prove sturdy
artisans of conquest.
Young Benjamin, the last born of the brothers Froment, was particularly
upset by this departure. He was a delicate, good-looking child not yet
twelve years old, whom his parents greatly spoiled, thinking that he was
weak. And they were quite determined that they would at all events keep
him with them, so handsome did they find him with his soft limpid eyes
and beautiful curly hair. He was growing up in a languid way, dreamy,
petted, idle among his mother's skirts, like the one charming weakling of
that strong, hardworking family.
"Let me kiss you again, my good Nicolas," said he to his departing
brother. "When will you come back?"
"Never, my little Benjamin."
The boy shuddered.
"Never, never!" he repeated. "Oh! that's too long. Come back, come back
some day, so that I may kiss you again."
"Never," repeated Nicolas, turning pale himself.
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