Noon had just struck. The school door opened and the youngsters darted out, jostling each other in their haste to get out quickly. But instead of promptly dispersing and going home to dinner as usual, they stopped a few paces off, broke up into knots, and began whispering.

The fact was that, that morning, Simon, the son of La Blanchotte, had, for the first time, attended school.

They had all of them in their families heard talk of La Blanchotte; and, although in public she was welcome enough, the mothers among themselves treated her with a somewhat disdainful compassion, which the children had imitated without in the least knowing why.

As for Simon himself, they did not know him, for he never went out, and did not run about with them in the streets of the village, or along the banks of the river. And they did not care for him; so it was with a certain delight, mingled with considerable astonishment, that they met and repeated to each other what had been said by a lad of fourteen or fifteen who appeared to know all about it, so sagaciously did he wink. “You know—Simon—well, he has no papa.”

Just then La Blanchotte's son appeared in the doorway of the school. He was seven or eight years old, rather pale, very neat, with a timid and almost awkward manner.

He was starting home to his mother's house when the groups of his schoolmates, whispering and watching him with the mischievous and heartless eyes of children bent upon playing a nasty trick, gradually closed in around him and ended by surrounding him altogether. There he stood in their midst, surprised and embarrassed, not understanding what they were going to do with him. But the lad who had brought the news, puffed up with the success he had met with already, demanded: “What is your name?”

He answered: “Simon.”

“Simon what?” retorted the other.

The child, altogether bewildered, repeated: “Simon.”

The lad shouted at him: “One is named Simon something—that is not a name—Simon indeed.”

The child, on the brink of tears, replied for the third time: “My name is Simon.”

The urchins began to laugh. The triumphant tormentor cried: “You can see plainly that he has no papa.”

A deep silence ensued. The children were dumfounded by this extraordinary, impossible, monstrous thing—a boy who had not a papa; they looked upon him as a phenomenon, an unnatural being, and they felt that hitherto inexplicable contempt of their mothers for La Blanchotte growing upon them.

As for Simon, he had leaned against a tree to avoid falling, and he remained as if prostrated by an irreparable disaster. He sought to explain, but could think of nothing to say to refute this horrible charge that he had no papa. At last he shouted at them quite recklessly: “Yes, I have one.”

“Where is he?” demanded the boy.

Simon was silent, he did not know. The children roared, tremendously excited; and those country boys, little more than animals, experienced that cruel craving which prompts the fowls of a farmyard to destroy one of their number as soon as it is wounded. Simon suddenly espied a little neighbor, the son of a widow, whom he had seen, as he himself was to be seen, always alone with his mother.

“And no more have you,” he said; “no more have you a papa.”

“Yes,” replied the other, “I have one.”

“Where is he?” rejoined Simon.

“He is dead,” declared the brat, with superb dignity; “he is in the cemetery, is my papa.”

A murmur of approval rose among the little wretches as if this fact of possessing a papa dead in a cemetery had caused their comrade to grow big enough to crush the other one who had no papa at all. And these boys, whose fathers were for the most part bad men, drunkards, thieves, and who beat their wives, jostled each other to press closer and closer, as though they, the legitimate ones, would smother by their pressure one who was illegitimate.

The boy who chanced to be next Simon suddenly put his tongue out at him with a mocking air and shouted at him: “No papa! No papa!”

Simon seized him by the hair with both hands and set to work to disable his legs with kicks, while he bit his cheek ferociously. A tremendous struggle ensued between the two combatants, and Simon found himself beaten, torn, bruised, rolled on the ground in the midst of the ring of applauding schoolboys. As he arose, mechanically brushing with his hand his little blouse all covered with dust, some one shouted at him: “Go and tell your papa.”

Then he felt a great sinking at his heart. They were stronger than he was, they had beaten him, and he had no answer to give them, for he knew well that it was true that he had no papa. Full of pride, he attempted for some moments to struggle against the tears which were choking him. He had a feeling of suffocation, and then without any sound he commenced to weep, with great shaking sobs.

A ferocious joy broke out among his enemies, and, with one accord, just like savages in their fearful festivals, they took each other by the hand and danced round him in a circle, repeating as a refrain: “No papa! No papa!”

But suddenly Simon ceased sobbing. He became ferocious. There were stones under his feet; he picked them up and with all his strength hurled them at his tormentors. Two or three were struck and rushed off yelling, and so formidable did he appear that the rest became panic-stricken. Cowards, as the mob always is in presence of an exasperated man, they broke up and fled.

Left alone, the little fellow without a father set off running toward the fields, for a recollection had been awakened in him which determined his soul to a great resolve. He made up his mind to drown himself in the river.

He remembered, in fact, that eight days before, a poor devil who begged for his livelihood had thrown himself into the water because he had no more money. Simon had been there when they fished him out again; and the wretched man, who usually seemed to him so miserable, and ugly, had then struck him as being so peaceful with his pale cheeks, his long drenched beard, and his open eyes full of calm. The bystanders had said: “He is dead.”And some one had said: “He is quite happy now.”

And Simon wished to drown himself also, because he had no father, just like the wretched being who had no money.

He reached the water and watched it flowing. Some fish were sporting briskly in the clear stream and occasionally made a little bound and caught the flies flying on the surface. He stopped crying in order to watch them, for their maneuvers interested him greatly. But, at intervals, as in a tempest intervals of calm alternate suddenly with tremendous gusts of wind, which snap off the trees and then lose themselves in the horizon, this thought would return to him with intense pain: “I am going to drown myself because I have no papa.”

It was very warm, fine weather. The pleasant sunshine warmed the grass. The water shone like a mirror. And Simon enjoyed some minutes of happiness, of that languor which follows weeping, and felt inclined to fall asleep there upon the grass in the warm sunshine.

A little green frog leaped from under his feet. He endeavored to catch it. It escaped him. He followed it and lost it three times in succession. At last he caught it by one of its hind legs and began to laugh as he saw the efforts the creature made to escape. It gathered itself up on its hind legs and then with a violent spring suddenly stretched them out as stiff as two bars; while it beat the air with its front legs as though they were hands, its round eyes staring in their circle of yellow. It reminded him of a toy made of straight slips of wood nailed zigzag one on the other; which by a similar movement regulated the movements of the little soldiers fastened thereon. Then he thought of his home, and then of his mother, and, overcome by sorrow, he again began to weep. A shiver passed over him. He knelt down and said his prayers as before going to bed. But he was unable to finish them, for tumultuous, violent sobs shook his whole frame. He no longer thought, he no longer saw anything around him, and was wholly absorbed in crying.

Suddenly a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a rough voice asked him:“What is it that causes you so much grief, my little man?”

Simon turned round. A tall workman with a beard and black curly hair was staring at him good-naturedly. He answered with his eyes and throat full of tears: “They beat me—because—I—I have no—papa—no papa.”

“What!” said the man, smiling; “why, everybody has one.”

The child answered painfully amid his spasms of grief: “But I—I—I have none.”

Then the workman became serious. He had recognized La Blanchotte's son, and, although himself a new arrival in the neighborhood, he had a vague idea of her history.

“Well,” said he, “console yourself, my boy, and come with me home to your mother. They will give you—a papa.”

And so they started on the way, the big fellow holding the little fellow by the hand, and the man smiled, for he was not sorry to see this Blanchotte, who was, it was said, one of the prettiest girls of the countryside, and, perhaps, he was saying to himself, at the bottom of his heart, that a lass who had erred might very well err again.

They arrived in front of a very neat little white house.

“There it is,” exclaimed the child, and he cried, “Mamma!”

A woman appeared, and the workman instantly left off smiling, for he saw at once that there was no fooling to be done with the tall pale girl who stood austerely at her door as though to defend from one man the threshold of that house where she had already been betrayed by another. Intimidated, his cap in his hand, he stammered out: “See, madame, I have brought you back your little boy who had lost himself near the river.”

But Simon flung his arms about his mother's neck and told her, as he again began to cry:“No, mamma, I wished to drown myself, because the others had beaten me—had beaten me—because I have no papa.”

A burning redness covered the young woman's cheeks; and, hurt to the quick, she embraced her child passionately, while the tears coursed down her face. The man, much moved, stood there, not knowing how to get away.

But Simon suddenly ran to him and said: “Will you be my papa?”

A deep silence ensued. La Blanchotte, dumb and tortured with shame, leaned herself against the wall, both her hands upon her heart. The child, seeing that no answer was made him, replied: “If you will not, I shall go back and drown myself.”

The workman took the matter as a jest and answered, laughing: “Why, yes, certainly I will.”

“What is your name,” went on the child, “so that I may tell the others when they wish to know your name?”

“Philip,” answered the man.

Simon was silent a moment so that he might get the name well into his head; then he stretched out his arms, quite consoled, as he said: “Well, then, Philip, you are my papa.”

The workman, lifting him from the ground, kissed him hastily on both cheeks, and then walked away very quickly with great strides.

When the child returned to school next day he was received with a spiteful laugh, and at the end of school, when the lads were on the point of recommencing, Simon threw these words at their heads as he would have done a stone: “He is named Philip, my papa.”

Yells of delight burst out from all sides. “Philip who? Philip what? What on earth is Philip? Where did you pick up your Philip?”

Simon answered nothing; and, immovable in his faith, he defied them with his eye, ready to be martyred rather than fly before them. The school master came to his rescue and he returned home to his mother.

During three months, the tall workman, Philip, frequently passed by La Blanchotte's house, and sometimes he made bold to speak to her when he saw her sewing near the window. She answered him civilly, always sedately, never joking with him, nor permitting him to enter her house. Notwithstanding, being, like all men, a bit of a coxcomb, he imagined that she was often rosier than usual when she chatted with him.

But a lost reputation is so difficult to regain and always remains so fragile that, in spite of the shy reserve of La Blanchotte, they already gossiped in the neighborhood.

As for Simon he loved his new papa very much, and walked with him nearly every evening when the day's work was done. He went regularly to school, and mixed with great dignity with his schoolfellows without ever answering them back.

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him: “You have lied. You have not a papa named Philip.”

“Why do you say that?” demanded Simon, much disturbed.

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied: “Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband.”

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning; nevertheless, he retorted: “He is my papa, all the same.”

“That can very well be,” exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, “but that is not being your papa altogether.”

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in the direction of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Philip worked.

This forge was as though buried beneath trees. It was very dark there; the red glare of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashes five blacksmiths; who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din. They were standing enveloped in flame, like demons, their eyes fixed on the red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rose and fell with their hammers.

Simon entered without being noticed, and went quietly to pluck his friend by the sleeve.The latter turned round. All at once the work came to a standstill, and all the men looked on, very attentive. Then, in the midst of this unaccustomed silence, rose the slender pipe of Simon: “Say, Philip, the Michaude boy told me just now that you were not altogether my papa.”

“Why not?” asked the blacksmith.

The child replied with all innocence: “Because you are not my mamma's husband.”

No one laughed. Philip remained standing, leaning his forehead upon the back of his great hands, which supported the handle of his hammer standing upright upon the anvil. He mused. His four companions watched him, and Simon, a tiny mite among these giants, anxiously waited. Suddenly, one of the smiths, answering to the sentiment of all, said to Philip: “La Blanchotte is a good, honest girl, and upright and steady in spite of her misfortune, and would make a worthy wife for an honest man.”

“That is true,” remarked the three others.

The smith continued: “Is it the girl's fault if she went wrong? She had been promised marriage; and I know more than one who is much respected to-day, and who sinned every bit as much.”

“That is true,” responded the three men in chorus.

He resumed: “How hard she has toiled, poor thing, to bring up her child all alone, and how she has wept all these years she has never gone out except to church, God only knows.”

“This is also true,” said the others.

Then nothing was heard but the bellows which fanned the fire of the furnace.

Philip hastily bent himself down to Simon: “Go and tell your mother that I am coming to speak to her this evening.”

Then he pushed the child out by the shoulders.

He returned to his work, and with a single blow the five hammers again fell upon their anvils. Thus they wrought the iron until nightfall, strong, powerful, happy, like contented hammers. But just as the great bell of a cathedral resounds upon feast days above the jingling of the other bells, so Philip's hammer, sounding above the rest, clanged second after second with a deafening uproar. And he stood amid the flying sparks plying his trade vigorously.

The sky was full of stars as he knocked at La Blanchotte's door. He had on his Sunday blouse, a clean shirt, and his beard was trimmed. The young woman showed herself upon the threshold, and said in a grieved tone: “It is ill to come thus when night has fallen, Mr. Philip.”

He wished to answer, but stammered and stood confused before her.

She resumed: “You understand, do you not, that it will not do for me to be talked about again.”

“What does that matter to me, if you will be my wife!”

No voice replied to him, but he believed that he heard in the shadow of the room the sound of a falling body. He entered quickly; and Simon, who had gone to bed, distinguished the sound of a kiss and some words that his mother murmured softly. Then,all at once, he found himself lifted up by the hands of his friend, who, holding him at the length of his herculean arms, exclaimed: “You will tell them, your schoolmates, that your papa is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and that he will pull the ears of all who do you any harm.”

On the morrow, when the school was full and lessons were about to begin, little Simon stood up, quite pale with trembling lips. “My papa,” said he in a clear voice, “is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and he has promised to pull the ears of all who does me any harm.”

This time no one laughed, for he was very well known, was Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and was a papa of whom any one in the world would have been proud.

中午十二點的鐘聲剛剛敲過。校門打開了，孩子們爭先恐后地匆匆奔出了校門。但是，他們沒有像往常那樣很快散開，回家吃飯，而是在離校門幾步遠的地方停下來，三五成群，開始竊竊私語。

原來是今天早上布朗肖大姐的兒子西蒙第一次到學校上課。

他們在家里都聽人說起過布朗肖大姐；而且，盡管在公開場合她還算受歡迎，但那些母親私下對她卻是一種既表示同情又有點兒鄙視的態度。孩子們也紛紛仿效，而他們根本不知道什么原因。

至于西蒙本人，他們并不認識，因為他從不出門，沒有跟他們在村里的街道上或河岸上一起玩過，他們不喜歡他，所以他們都懷著某種欣喜，其中摻雜著相當多驚訝的成分，聚在一起，相互轉告著其中一個十四五歲大男孩說的話：“你們都知道吧——西蒙——哎呀，他沒有爸爸。”這個大男孩好像知道有關這件事的一切，他一邊說，一邊非常聰敏地眨著眼睛。

正在這時，布朗肖大姐的兒子出現在了校門口。他有七八歲，臉色有點兒蒼白，衣著十分整潔，怯生生的，簡直是一副笨手笨腳的樣子。

他正要回家前往母親的房子，這時那一群群正在竊竊私語的同學用孩子們決心開惡劣玩笑時那種無情的惡意目光打量著他，慢慢地朝他圍攏過來，最后完全把他團團圍住。他站在他們中間，既驚訝又迷惑，不明白他們要對他干什么。那個傳遞消息的大男孩見已到了火候，就趾高氣揚地問道：“你叫什么名字？”

他回答說：“西蒙。”

“西蒙什么？”對方反問道。

這孩子完全不知所措，重復道：“西蒙。”

大男孩沖他叫道：“一個人的姓名應當是西蒙·某某——西蒙當然不是一個姓。”

這孩子快要哭出來了，第三次回答說：“我叫西蒙。”

頑童們都開始哈哈大笑。那個得意洋洋的大男孩大聲嚷道：“你們都可以看清楚了吧，他沒有爸爸。”

接著是一陣沉寂。一個男孩沒有爸爸，這是一件不可能有的、離奇古怪的事兒。孩子們都目瞪口呆，把他看成是一件不平常的事，看成是一個不正常的人；他們感到，至今他們的母親對布朗肖大姐的那種莫名其妙的輕蔑，他們都漸漸地習慣了。

至于西蒙，他靠在一棵樹上，以免摔倒；他顯得有氣無力，仿佛遭遇了一場無法彌補的災難似的。他試圖解釋，但他想不出要說什么來反駁他沒有爸爸這個可怕事實。最后，他干脆不顧一切地對他們大聲喊道：“我有，我有爸爸。”

“他在哪里？”大男孩問道。

西蒙沒有吭聲，他不知道。那些孩子哈哈大笑，興奮不已；那些跟禽獸差不多的鄉下孩子體驗到了一種殘忍的渴望，這種渴望就像驅使雞窩里的一只母雞發現有一只受傷就要消滅它一樣。西蒙突然看見一個小鄰居，那是一個寡婦的兒子。西蒙見過他像自己一樣總是孤零零地跟母親在一起。

“你也沒有，”西蒙說，“你也沒有爸爸。”

“不，”對方答道，“我有。”

“他在哪里？”西蒙反問道。

“他死了，”那個小孩非常莊重地說，“他在公墓里，他是我的爸爸。”

這群小壞蛋發出了一陣低沉連續的贊許聲，好像擁有一個死去、躺在公墓里的爸爸這個事實，使他們的伙伴變得高大，足以壓垮根本沒有爸爸的另一個人。而這些男孩的父親大多數是壞蛋、酒鬼、小偷，還打他們的妻子。他們你推我搡，越擠越緊，好像他們這些合法的兒子要把這個不合法的兒子擠死一般。

一個男孩碰巧站在西蒙身邊，突然朝他伸出舌頭，一副嘲弄的樣子，對他叫嚷：“沒有爸爸！沒有爸爸！”

西蒙兩手一把抓住他的頭發，一邊狠狠地咬他的臉頰，一邊踢他的腿。兩個人就開始了一場大戰。結果，西蒙挨了打，衣服撕爛，鼻青臉腫，滾在地上。那些男生圍住他拍手喝彩。他站起來，用一只手機械地拂了拂小罩衫上沾滿的塵土，這時有人沖他喊道：“去告訴你的爸爸呀。”

他情緒低落極了。他們比他強大，已經打敗了他，而且他沒法回答他們，因為他清楚自己真的沒有爸爸。他自尊心極強，努力想忍住眼淚，但忍了一會兒，就透不過氣來了，感到窒息，隨后開始無聲地哭泣，一邊哭泣，一邊顫抖不止。

他的敵人中間爆發出了一陣兇殘的笑聲；而且，就像在狂歡中的野人一樣，他們手拉手，圍著他一邊跳，一邊像唱疊句一樣一遍又一遍地叫著：“沒有爸爸！沒有爸爸！”

但是，西蒙突然停止了哭泣。他發起狠來。他腳下有幾塊石頭；他拾起來，用盡全力地向那些折磨他的人扔去。兩三個人被砸中了，高聲叫喊著趕忙跑走了。他的樣子非常嚇人，其他人也都驚慌失措，嚇得四散奔逃，就像一群烏合之眾面對一個惱羞成怒的人那樣。

孤零零只剩下了這個沒有父親的小家伙，他開始撒腿向田野里跑去，因為他回想起一件事，這給了他很大的決心。他決定跳河自殺。

事實上，他想起了八天前，有一個靠乞討為生的可憐人，因為沒有錢，跳河自殺了。有人把他撈出來時，西蒙就在現場；這個不幸的人，平常在西蒙看來那么可憐、那么難看的人，現場竟顯得那么安寧，他臉色蒼白，長須凈濕，睜著的眼睛充滿了平靜，這給西蒙留下了深刻的印象。看熱鬧的人說：“他死了。”還有人說：“他現在徹底幸福了。”

西蒙也想跳河自殺，因為沒有父親的他就像那個沒有錢的可憐人一樣。

他來到河邊，望著流水。幾條魚在清澈的溪流中輕快地嬉戲，偶爾輕輕一躍，逮住從水面上飛過的小蟲子。看著看著，他停止了哭泣，因為那些魚逮蟲的技巧引起了他極大的興趣。但是，就像一場暴風雨里，風暴暫時平息，還會突然有陣陣狂風刮斷樹木，然后又消失在天邊一樣：“我要跳河自殺，因為我沒有爸爸。”這個念頭總是不時地回到他的腦海里來，讓他無比痛苦。

天氣晴朗，格外暖和。愜意的陽光照得草地暖烘烘的。河水像鏡子一樣閃閃發亮。西蒙感到了片刻的快樂和哭過后的那種困倦，真想躺在暖烘烘的草地上睡一覺。

一只綠色小青蛙從他的腳下跳出來。他奮力想捉住它，它卻逃脫了。他又追它，一連捉了三次都沒有捉到。最后，他抓住了它的一條后腿；看到這個小動物掙扎著想逃走的樣子，他笑了起來。它收緊后腿，使勁一蹬，兩腿猛地挺展，硬得像兩根木棍似的；同時它用前腿拍打著空氣，仿佛在用手一般；它那圓圓的眼睛長在黃圈里，瞪得溜圓。這使他想起了一種用狹長的木片呈之字形釘在一起的玩具，就是用相似的動作控制釘在上面的小兵。隨后，他想到了家，想到了母親，悲痛萬分，又開始哭了起來。他渾身顫抖，跪下來，像上床睡覺前那樣禱告。但是，他無法完成禱告，因為激動猛烈的哭泣讓他渾身顫抖。他什么也不再想了，也不再看周圍的一切了，全神貫注地哭了起來。

突然，一只厚重的手放在了他的肩上，一個粗獷的聲音問他：“是什么事兒讓你這么傷心呀，小家伙？”

西蒙轉過身。只見一個留著絡腮胡和黑色鬈發的高個子工人和藹地看著他。他眼含淚水，哽咽著回答說：“他們打我——因為——我——我沒有——爸爸——沒有爸爸。”

“什么！”那人微笑著說，“哎呀，人人都有爸爸。”

在一陣陣傷心中，孩子痛苦地回答說：“可是，我——我——我沒有。”

隨后，這個工人變得神情嚴肅。他認出這是布朗肖大姐的兒子；盡管他剛到這里不久，但他隱約知道一些她過去的事兒。

“好了，”他說，“我的孩子，別難過了，跟我回家去找你媽媽吧。你會有——一個爸爸的。”

于是，他們就上了路，大人拉著小孩的手。那個人面帶微笑，他去見這個布朗肖大姐，不會感到遺憾，據說她是當地最美麗的一個姑娘，也許他在心底對自己說，一個犯過錯的姑娘很可能會再次犯錯。

他們來到了一座非常整潔的白色小房子前面。

“到了，”孩子大聲說道，然后喊道：“媽媽！”

一個女人走了出來，那個工人立即停止了微笑，因為他馬上明白，絕不能跟這個臉色蒼白的高個姑娘開玩笑。她神情嚴肅地站在門口，好像是要防止男人進這個房門，因為另一個男人曾經背叛過她。他感到膽怯，手里拿著帽子，結結巴巴地說：“看，太太，我已經把您的小孩子送回來了，他在河邊迷了路。”

但是，西蒙摟住母親的脖子，說著說著又開始哭了起來：“不，媽媽，我是想跳河自殺，因為別人打我——打我——因為我沒有爸爸。”

年輕女人臉頰燒得通紅，傷到了痛處；她緊緊地抱住孩子，眼淚順著臉頰滾滾而下。那個人站在那里，深受感動，不知道該怎么走開。

但是，西蒙突然跑到他身邊說道：“你做我的爸爸好嗎？”

接著是一陣沉寂。布朗肖大姐靠著墻，兩手按住胸口，默不作聲，忍受著羞恥的折磨。看到那個人沒有回答，孩子又說道：“您要是不愿意的話，我就再回去跳河。”

這個工人把這件事當作玩笑，就笑著回答說：“啊，愿意，我當然愿意。”

“您叫什么名字？”孩子接著問道，“別人想知道您的名字時，我就可以告訴他們了。”

“菲利普，”那個人答道。

西蒙沉默了一會兒，以便把這個名字牢記在心里，然后一副十分快慰的樣子，一邊伸出雙臂，一邊說道：“那好，菲利普，您就是我的爸爸了。”

那個工人把他抱起來，在他的雙頰上飛快地吻了吻，然后大步流星飛快地走了。

第二天，這孩子返校時，迎接他的是一片充滿惡意的笑聲；放學以后，那些大孩子正要故伎重演，西蒙就像扔石頭一樣把話劈頭蓋臉地砸向他們：“我的爸爸叫菲利普。”

周圍響起了歡叫聲。“菲利普誰？菲利普什么？菲利普到底是什么？你的菲利普是在哪里拾來的？”

西蒙沒有回答；他懷著堅定不移的信念，用蔑視的眼光瞪著他們，寧愿被折磨死，也不愿在他們面前逃走。還是校長替他解了圍，他才回到了母親身邊。

三個月來，高個子工人菲利普常常路過布朗肖大姐家，有時看見她在窗邊縫衣服，他就冒昧地對她說話。她禮貌地回答他，始終鎮靜，從來不跟他說笑，也不讓他進家門。然而，像所有男人一樣，他有點兒浮夸，想象著她跟他談話時，常常臉色比平時紅潤。

但是，名譽一旦受損，就很難恢復，即使恢復，也總是十分脆弱，所以不管布朗肖大姐多么小心謹慎，周圍還是已經有人說起了閑話。

至于西蒙，他非常愛自己的新爸爸，幾乎每天晚上都要在新爸爸一天工作結束后一起散步。他按時上學，威風凜凜地在同學們中間走過，從不搭理他們。

然而，有一天，最先攻擊他的那個大男孩對他說：“你撒謊。你沒有一個叫菲利普的爸爸。”

“你為什么這樣說？”西蒙非常不安地問道。

大男孩搓著手，回答說：“因為你要是有爸爸的話，他就應該是你媽媽的丈夫。”

西蒙在這個推理事實面前慌張了起來；不過，他還是反擊道：“反正他是我的爸爸。”

“這也很有可能，”大男孩冷笑著大聲說道，“但他不完全是你的爸爸。”

布朗肖大姐的兒子低著頭，神思恍惚，向老盧瓦宗開的鐵匠鋪走去。菲利普就在那里干活。

鐵匠鋪仿佛掩藏在樹林下面。那里很暗；只有一只高大爐子的熊熊紅光閃閃發亮，照著五個鐵匠，他們在鐵砧上打鐵，發出震耳欲聾的聲音。他們站在那里，像被火焰包圍的魔鬼一樣，眼睛盯著正在錘打的紅鐵塊；他們麻木的思想隨著鐵錘起起落落。

西蒙走進去時，沒有人注意到。他悄悄地走過去，拽了拽朋友的袖子。他的朋友回過頭。工作馬上停了下來，所有的人都目不轉睛地看著。接著，在這不尋常的寂靜中，響起了西蒙細弱的聲音：“喂，菲利普，米肖大媽的兒子剛才對我說您不完全是我的爸爸。”

“為什么不是？”鐵匠問道。

孩子一臉天真地回答說：“因為您不是我媽媽的丈夫。”

沒有一個人笑。菲利普站在那里一動不動，兩只大手扶著直立在鐵砧上的錘柄，額頭靠在手背上。他在沉思。他的四個伙伴望著他。西蒙在這些巨人中間就像一個小不點兒，他焦急地等待著。突然，一個鐵匠對菲利普說出了大家的觀點：“布朗肖大姐是一個誠實的好姑娘，盡管遭到過不幸，但她正直可靠，配得上一個誠實的男人。”

“這話沒錯，”另外三個人說。

這個鐵匠繼續說道：“要是說這位姑娘失過足，難道這是她的過錯嗎？別人答應過要娶她；我認識不止一個女人，像她一樣從前犯過錯，現在不同樣頗受尊敬嘛。”

“這話沒錯，”三個人齊聲響應。

他接著說道：“可憐的女人，她一個人把孩子拉扯大，吃了多少苦；這些年，除了上教堂之外，她從不出門，哭過多少次，只有上帝知道。”

“這話也沒錯，”其他三個人說。

隨后，只聽到風箱呼呼扇動爐火的聲音。

菲利普趕忙彎下腰，對西蒙說：“去告訴你的媽媽，今晚我要去跟她談。”

說完，他就推著肩膀把孩子送了出去。

他回來又開始干活，五把鐵錘再次同時落在鐵砧上。他們就這樣打鐵一直打到天黑，強壯、有力、歡快，好像心甘情愿的鐵錘一樣。但是，正如大教堂的大鐘節日回響超過其他鐘的叮當聲一樣，菲利普的鐵錘聲也蓋住了其他人的錘聲。他的錘一秒又一秒鏗鏘作響，震耳欲聾。他站在飛濺的火星中，生龍活虎地辛苦工作著。

他敲響布朗肖大姐家的門時，已是滿天星斗。他穿著節日工裝和干凈襯衣，胡子剪得整整齊齊。年輕女人來到門口，傷心地說：“菲利普先生，夜幕降臨后到這里來，不合適。”

他想應聲，但結結巴巴，站在她面前，手足無措。

她接著說道：“你明白，不是嗎，不要讓人再談論我了。”

“只要你愿意做我的妻子，那對我又有什么關系呢！”

盡管對方沒有回答他，但他相信他聽到了房間的黑暗中一個落體的聲音。他飛快地走進去；已經上床睡覺的西蒙聽到了一個接吻聲和他的母親柔聲說出的幾句話。緊接著，他突然被朋友的一雙手抱了起來。朋友用一雙力大無比的胳膊舉著他，大聲說道：“你可以告訴他們，告訴你的同學們，說你的爸爸是鐵匠菲利普·雷米，誰要是傷害你，他就要拽誰的耳朵。”

第二天，全體學生到齊，就要上課時，小西蒙站起來，臉色蒼白，嘴唇顫抖。“我的爸爸，”他聲音清晰地說。“是鐵匠菲利普·雷米，他答應說誰要是傷害我，他就要拽誰的耳朵。”

這一次沒有人笑，因為大家都非常熟悉他，就是鐵匠菲利普·雷米，世界上誰有他這樣的爸爸，都會感到自豪。