"Mais, chérie," Gaspard began.
"You love your work better than you do me," sobbed Susette.
"Nom d'un pourceau!" droned Joseph.
"But this work is important," Gaspard argued desperately. "The gray has not only cast a shoe, but the shoes on the others are loose. They've got to be attended to. It's work that will bring me in a whole écu."
"I don't care," said Susette. "I can't stand the smell of those horses, and I could never, never bear the smell of the hot iron on their hoofs."
"But I'm a smith," argued Gaspard.
It was his ultimate appeal.
"I told you that you loved your work more than you did me," whimpered Susette, beginning to cry. "'I'm a smith; I'm a smith'—that's all you've talked about since you got me in your power."
Joseph the carter went away. He did so shaking his head, followed by his shining Percherons, which were as majestic as elephants, but as gentle as sheep. There was a tugging at Gaspard's heart as he saw them go. Such horses! And no one could shoe a horse as could he. He looked down at Susette's bowed head as she lay there cuddled in his arms. That despairing cry was again swelling in his chest: "But I'm a smith." He silenced it. He stroked the girl's head.
As he did so, he was mindful as never before of the clink and jangle of the chain.