But if the dear departed yonder slept in deepest silence, how gay was the
uproar and how great the victory of life that morning along the roads
which led to Chantebled! The number of those who were born surpassed that
of those who died. From each that departed, a whole florescence of living
beings seemed to blossom forth. They sprang up in dozens from the ground
where their forerunners had laid themselves to sleep when weary of their
work. And they flocked to Chantebled from every side, even as swallows
return at spring to revivify their old nests, filling the blue sky with
the joy of their return. Outside the farm, vehicles were ever setting
down fresh families with troops of children, whose sea of fair heads was
always expanding. Great-grandfathers with snowy hair came leading little
ones who could scarcely toddle. There were very nice-looking old ladies
whom young girls of dazzling freshness assisted to alight. There were
mothers expecting the arrival of other babes, and fathers to whom the
charming idea had occurred of inviting their daughters' affianced lovers.
And they were all related, they had all sprung from a common ancestry,
they were all mingled in an inextricable tangle, fathers, mothers,
brothers, sisters, fathers-in-law, mothers-in-law, brothers-in-law,
sisters-in-law, sons, daughters, uncles, aunts, and cousins, of every
possible degree, down to the fourth generation.
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