She has such power over those who love her, one would say she was a witch; but with her magic what does she seek?
Can it be fortune ?--it has been offered her twenty times, and she refuses all; however, they say she now pretends to be attached to rich Laurent de Brax, and they are soon to be betrothed.

Oh, what confusion she will make this evening, vain creature! Think no more of her, Pascal; leave her, it is for your good;--hear me! she would hold a poor blacksmith in contempt, whose father is old, infirm, and poor,--for we are poor, indeed; alas! you know it well.

We have parted with all; we have only a scythe left.

It has been a dark time with us since you fell sick; now that you are well, go, dearest, and work.

What do I say?
we can suffer still; rest yourself, if you please, but, for the love of God, go not forth this evening." And the poor mother in despair wept, as she implored her son, who, leaning against the forge, stifled a sigh which rose from his oppressed heart, and said, "You are right, mother: I had forgotten all,--we are poor, indeed.