 his occupation soothed him, and was in itself a pleasure. A
forced limitation of effort offered a justification of homely courses to an
unambitious man, whose conscience would hardly have allowed him to remain in
such obscurity while his powers were unimpeded. Hence Yeobright sometimes sang
to himself, and when obliged to accompany Humphrey in search of brambles for
faggot-bonds he would amuse his companion with sketches of Parisian life and
character, and so while away the time.
    On one of these warm afternoons Eustacia walked out alone in the direction
of Yeobright's place of work. He was busily chopping away at the furze, a long
row of faggots which stretched downward from his position representing the
labour of the day. He did not observe her approach, and she stood close to him,
and heard his undercurrent of song. It shocked her. To see him there, a poor
afflicted man, earning money by the sweat of his brow, had at first moved her to
tears; but to hear him sing and not at all rebel against an occupation which,
however satisfactory to himself, was degrading to her, as an educated lady-wife,
wounded her through. Unconscious of her presence he still went on singing: -
 
»Le point du jour
À nos bosquets rend toute leur parure;
Flore est plus belle à son retour;
L'oiseau reprend doux chant d'amour;
Tout célébre dans la nature
Le point du jour.
 
Le point du jour
Cause parfois, cause douleur extrême;
Que l'espace des nuits est court
Pour le berger brûlant d'amour,
Forcé de quitter ce qu'il aime
Au point du jour!«
 
It was bitterly plain to Eustacia that he did not care much about social
failure; and the proud fair woman bowed her head and wept in sick despair at
thought of the blasting effect upon her own life of that mood and condition in
him. Then she came forward.
    »I would starve rather than do it!« she exclaimed vehemently. »And you can
sing! I will go and live with my grandfather again!«
    »Eustacia! I did not see you, though I noticed something moving,« he said
gently. He came forward, pulled off his huge leather glove, and took her hand.
»Why do you speak in such a strange way? It is only a little old song which
struck my fancy when I was in Paris, and now just applies to my life with you.
Has your love for me all died, then, because my appearance is no longer that of
a fine gentleman?«
    »Dearest, you
