From that time he formed part of the work-shop, which simply counted a worker the more.
One afternoon early in April, when they were all busily engaged there, Marie, who sat embroidering at the table in front of Mere-Grand, raised her eyes to the window and suddenly burst into a cry of admiration: "Oh! look at Paris under that rain of sunlight!" Pierre drew near; the play of light was much the same as that which he had witnessed at his first visit.

The sun, sinking behind some slight purple clouds, was throwing down a hail of rays and sparks which on all sides rebounded and leapt over the endless stretch of roofs.

It might have been thought that some great sower, hidden amidst the glory of the planet, was scattering handfuls of golden grain from one horizon to the other.
Pierre, at sight of it, put his fancy into words: "It is the sun sowing Paris with grain for a future harvest," said he.

"See how the expanse looks like ploughed land; the brownish houses are like soil turned up, and the streets are deep and straight like furrows." "Yes, yes, that's true," exclaimed Marie gaily.

"The sun is sowing Paris with grain.