Bonnemort was silent; and his eyes turned towards the settlement, where lights were appearing one by one. Four o'clock struck in the Montsou tower and the cold became keener.
"And is your company rich?" asked Étienne.
The old man shrugged his shoulders, and then let them fall as if overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of gold.
"Ah, yes! Ah, yes! Not perhaps so rich as its neighbour, the Anzin Company. But millions and millions all the same. They can't count it. Nineteen pits, thirteen at work, the Voreux, the Victoire, Crévecœur, Mirou, St. Thomas, Madeleine, Feutry-Cantel, and still more, and six for pumping or ventilation, like Réquillart. Ten thousand workers, concessions reaching over sixty-seven communes, an output of five thousand tons a day, a railway joining all the pits, and workshops, and factories! Ah, yes! ah, yes! there's money there!"
The rolling of trams on the stages made the big yellow horse prick his ears. The cage was evidently repaired below, and the landers had got to work again. While he was harnessing his beast to re-descend, the carman added gently, addressing himself to the horse:
"Won't do to chatter, lazy good-for-nothing! If Monsieur Hennebeau knew how you waste your time!"
Étienne looked thoughtfully into the night. He asked:
"Then Monsieur Hennebeau owns the mine?"
"No," explained the old man, "Monsieur Hennebeau is only the general manager; he is paid just the same as us."
With a gesture the young man pointed into the darkness.