Gaujean, who had asked for another slice of mutton, was slowly masticating. “Ah! why, why? The looms must be kept going, I tell you. When one has weavers everywhere, in the neighbourhood of Lyons, in the Gard, in the Isère, they can't stand still a day without an enormous loss. Then we who sometimes employ makers having ten or fifteen looms are better able to control the output, as far as regards the stock, whilst the big manufacturers are obliged to have continual outlets, the quickest and largest possible, so that they are on their knees before the big shops. I know three or four who out-bid each other, and who would sooner work at a loss than not obtain the orders. But they make up for it with the small houses like yours. Yes, if they exist through them, they make their profit out of you. Heaven knows how the crisis will end!”
“It's odious!” exclaimed Robineau, relieved by this cry of anger.
Denise was quietly listening. She was secretly for the big shops, with her instinctive love of logic and life.
They had relapsed into silence, and were eating some potted French beans; at last she ventured to say in a cheerful tone, “The public does not complain.”
Madame Robineau could not suppress a little laugh, which annoyed her husband and Gaujean. No doubt the customer was satisfied, for, in the end, it was the customer who profited by the fall in prices. But everybody must live; where would they be if, under the pretext of the general welfare, the consumer was fattened at the expense of the producer? And then commenced a long discussion. Denise affected to be joking, all the while producing solid arguments. All the middle-men disappeared, the manufacturing agents, representatives, commission agents, and this greatly contributed to cheapen the articles; besides, the manufacturers could no longer live without the big shops, for as soon as one of them lost their custom, failure became a certainty; in short, it was a natural commercial evolution. It would be impossible to prevent things going on as they ought to, when everybody was working for that, whether they liked it or not.
“So you are for those who turned you out into the street?” asked Gaujean.
Denise became very red. She herself was surprised at the vivacity of her defence. What had she at heart, that such a flame should have invaded her bosom?
“Dear me, no!” replied she. “Perhaps I'm wrong, for you are more competent to judge than I. I simply express my opinion. The prices, instead of being settled as formerly by fifty houses, are now fixed by four or five, which have lowered them, thanks to the power of their capital, and the strength of their immense business. So much the better for the public, that's all!”
Robineau was not angry, but had become grave, keeping his eyes fixed on the table-cloth. He had often felt this breath of the new style of business, this evolution of which the young girl spoke; and he would ask himself in his clear, quiet moments, why he should wish to resist such a powerful current, which must carry everything before it Madame Robineau herself, on seeing her husband deep in thought, glanced with approval at Denise, who had modestly resumed her silent attitude.
“Come,” resumed Gaujean, to cut short the argument, “all that is simply theory. Let's talk of our matter.”