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in every sufferer's heart, so that one bad case of this kind is

multiplied, for every one who hears of it feels it as a personal



wrong, and the leaven works. Even this is not so serious, but

something far worse comes of it. Among the people, these causes of



injustice bring about a chronic state of smothered hatred for their

social superiors. The middle class becomes the poor man's enemy; they



lie without the bounds of his moral code, he tells lies to them and

robs them without scruple; indeed, theft ceases to be a crime or a



misdemeanor, and is looked upon as an act of vengeance.

"When an official, who ought to see that the poor have justice done



them, uses them ill and cheats them of their due, how can we expect

the poor starving wretches to bear their troubles meekly and to



respect the rights of property? It makes me shudder to think that some

understrapper whose business it is to dust papers in a government



office, has pocketed Gondrin's promised thousand francs of pension.

And yet there are folk who, never having measured the excess of the



people's sufferings, accuse the people of excess in the day of their

vengeance! When a government has done more harm than good to



individuals, its further existence depends on the merest accident, the

masses square the account after their fashion by upsetting it. A



statesman ought always to imagine Justice with the poor at her feet,

for justice was only invented for the poor."



When they had come within the compass of the township, Benassis saw

two people walking along the road in front of them, and turned to his



companion, who had been absorbed for some time in thought.

"You have seen a veteran soldier resigned to his life of wretchedness,



and now you are about to see an old agriculturallaborer who is

submitting to the same lot. The man there ahead of us has dug and sown



and toiled for others all his life."

Genestas looked and saw an old laborer making his way along the road,



in company with an aged woman. He seemed to be afflicted with some

form of sciatica, and limped painfully" target="_blank" title="ad.痛苦地;费力地">painfully along. His feet were encased in



a wretched pair of sabots, and a sort of wallet hung over his

shoulder. Several tools lay in the bottom of the bag; their handles,



blackened with long use and the sweat of toil, rattled audibly

together; while the other end of the wallet behind his shoulder held



bread, some walnuts, and a few fresh onions. His legs seemed to be

warped, as it were, his back was bent by continual toil; he stooped so



much as he walked that he leaned on a long stick to steady himself.

His snow-white hair escaped from under a battered hat, grown rusty by



exposure to all sorts of weather, and mended here and there with

visible stitches of white thread. His clothes, made of a kind of rough



canvas, were a mass of patches of contrasting colors. This piece of

humanity in ruins lacked none of the characteristics that appeal to



our hearts when we see ruins of other kinds.

His wife held herself somewhat more erect. Her clothing was likewise a



mass of rags, and the cap that she wore was of the coarsest materials.

On her back she carried a rough earthen jar by means of a thong passed



through the handles of the great pitcher, which was round in shape and

flattened at the sides. They both looked up when they heard the horses



approaching, saw that it was Benassis, and stopped.

The man had worked till he was almost past work, and his faithful



helpmate was no less broken with toil. It was painful to see how the

summer sun and the winter's cold had blackened their faces, and



covered them with such deep wrinkles that their features were hardly

discernible. It was not their life history that had been engraven on



their faces; but it might be gathered from their attitude and bearing.

Incessant toil had been the lot of both; they had worked and suffered



together; they had had many troubles and few joys to share; and now,

like captives grown accustomed to their prison, they seemed to be too



familiar with wretchedness to heed it, and to take everything as it

came. Yet a certain frank light-heartedness was not lacking in their



faces; and on a closer view, their monotonous life, the lot of so many

a poor creature, well-nigh seemed an enviable one. Trouble had set its



unmistakable mark on them, but petty cares had left no traces there.

"Well, my good Father Moreau, I suppose there is no help for it, and



you must always be working?"

"Yes, M. Benassis, there are one or two more bits of waste that I mean



to clear for you before I knock off work," the old man answered

cheerfully, and light shone in his little black eyes.



"Is that wine that your wife is carrying? If you will not take a rest

now, you ought at any rate to take wine."



"I take a rest? I should not know what to do with myself. The sun and

the fresh air put life into me when I am out of doors and busy



grubbing up the land. As to the wine, sir, yes, that is wine sure

enough, and it is all through your contriving I know that the Mayor at






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