Through the broken pane the snow could be seen falling.
The snow promised by the Candlemas sun of the preceding day had actually come.
The father cast a glance about him as though to make sure that he had forgotten nothing.
He seized an old shovel and spread ashes over the wet brands in such a manner as to entirely conceal them.
Then drawing himself up and leaning against the chimney-piece:--
"Now," said he, "we can receive the philanthropist."
BOOK EIGHTH.--THE WICKED POOR MAN
CHAPTER VIII
THE RAY OF LIGHT IN THE HOVEL
The big girl approached and laid her hand in her father''s.
"Feel how cold I am," said she.
"Bah!" replied the father, "I am much colder than that."
The mother exclaimed impetuously:--
"You always have something better than any one else, so you do! even bad things."
"Down with you!" said the man.
The mother, being eyed after a certain fashion, held her tongue.
Silence reigned for a moment in the hovel.
The elder girl was removing the mud from the bottom of her mantle, with a careless air; her younger sister continued to sob; the mother had taken the latter''s head between her hands, and was covering it with kisses, whispering to her the while:--
"My treasure, I entreat you, it is nothing of consequence, don''t cry, you will anger your father."