II.—The Evening Meal.
She sprang up from her seat, hurried to the kitchen, stirred up the fire, then returned to the little sitting-room, cleared the table, and set out the dinner things.
"HE HAMMERED IRON ALL DAY."
In the street below heavy clattering steps were heard upon the pavement: it was the work-people going home. Some slouched along, with their hands in their pockets, scenting the wide-open cabaret; others quickened their pace, eager to get back to their firesides, to the kind faces of their housewives and their shock-headed children.
The door opened abruptly; it was he, tall, strong, all black—a handsome man under his rough skin and bushy beard. The children, who had waited for his coming out of the factory, were with him. They seated themselves at table and Marianne brought in the soup.
The blacksmith was fond of soup, fond of the good odour which escaped from the brown tureen; and he proved it by having his plate filled three times to the brim.
Yet he did not look in a good temper. His clear blue eyes flashed under his knit brows, and it was with rough gesture he emptied the glass of wine Marianne had taken pleasure in pouring out for him.
"This state of things can't go on much longer," he said, as if speaking to himself.
"What has happened?" asked Marianne, anxiously. "Haven't you been paid your wages?"
"Thunder! It only wants to come to that. If ever they don't pay me, I'll burn down the whole shop!"
"How strange you are to-night! What is the matter with you?"
"What's the matter? Well, never you mind; women have nothing to do with such things."
"Give me your money, Jacques," said Marianne, speaking softly, thinking that he had forgotten himself a little on leaving the factory, and that it was well to take precautions.
"My money—what for?"
"For one reason, because you have no need to keep it in your pocket—you may lose it."
"Or drink it away, you mean?"
"Well! then you know what I have to pay, that I owe for my last confinement to the doctor, and the tailor has called——"
"The tailor! You are tricking me out nicely! Monsieur must have his tailor, now, like a fund-holder. And a doctor is to be paid by a workman—there's another good-for-nothing to be put down!"
The blacksmith seized the bottle of wine that was within his reach and refilled his glass.
"Jacques," said Marianne, now become slightly pale, "what is the matter with you to-day? I have never seen you like this before."
"I have had enough of this sort of life; it is time to end it, and that we should know a little whether it is not the man who makes the harvest that is to eat the corn."
"Oh!" cried Marianne, "I was sure you had been drinking."
"Yes, I have, but that's neither here nor there. I tell you that at the factory we've had enough of sweating, and have revolted at last."
"Jacques," cried Marianne, trembling, "has any injustice been done to you?"
"There's nothing else but injustice in this world. For whom do we slave? For whom do we toil the life out of us? For the rich and idle! I tell you, you are not going to pay for anything more with my money; I shall want it for myself, for I am not going back to work again."
He rose, snatched up his cap and planted it on his head.
"Where are you going, Jacques?"
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, JACQUES?"
"To join the comrades who are waiting for me. If I don't come back to-night, you'll know."
Marianne brushed away a tear which was running down her cheek, and tried to put a cheerful face on the matter. The children were there, and she did not want them to comprehend that anything serious was occurring. Perhaps, too—who could tell?—there might really be nothing in it; men are so foolish when they have been drinking.
"He has been put out in some way," she said to herself; "it has mounted to his head, and he is going to give way a little this evening, to drown his irritation, which will be gone to-morrow."
She put her children to bed, cleared away the dinner things, and resumed her sewing. But, in spite of herself, she could not help recalling what her husband had said. Why this hatred against the classes above him? What had they done to him? M. Hennetier, the principal proprietor of the factory, was a moderately rich man; but, down to the present time, the workmen in his employ had always regarded him as both good and just in his dealings with them. To make everybody as well off as himself was impossible. The position he held had been won by hard work; for he had once been a foreman only in the establishment of which he was now at the head.