“Yes,” resumed my brother; “but in ’93, one had no longer any relatives, one had only one’s arms. I worked. They have, in the country of Pontarlier, whither you are going, Monsieur Valjean, a truly patriarchal and truly charming industry, my sister. It is their cheese-dairies, which they call

fruitières

.”

Then my brother, while urging the man to eat, explained to him, with great minuteness, what these

fruitières