Nobody knows. Nobody will ever know. But Bouzon, Dubois and Dupont, so obscure three weeks ago, are the Men of the Hour in Montparnasse to-day. And one of the three will, almost indubitably, represent Montparnasse in the Hôtel de Ville after the next Municipal Election,—then be promoted to the Chamber of Deputies—then will eloquently, passionately inform the Palais Bourbon that Incoherency is the Peril of the Present Age.
V
ON STRIKE
1. When it was Dark in Paris
Eight o’clock at night, and the electric lights burning brightly, and the band playing gaily, and the customers chatting happily in this large, comfortable café. Although it is the “dead” season, business is brisk. Here and there an elegant Parisienne, eating an ice. In corners, groups of card-players. And next to me, three stout, red-faced, prosperous-looking bourgeois, to whom the proprietor of the café pays particular attention. He hopes they are well. He hopes their ladies and their dear children are well. He hopes their affairs are going well. From their replies, I learn that the three bourgeois are important tradesmen of the quarter.
Suddenly their conversation turns to strikes—and naturally my three neighbours are indignant with the strikers. The strikers spoil affairs; the strikers should therefore be arrested, imprisoned, transported. Half-a-dozen of them might be executed, as an example. The Bourse du Travail and the offices of the General Confederation of Labour should be razed to the ground. No other country but France would tolerate such anarchy. One is on the verge of a revolution, and——
At this point the scores of electric lights jump excitedly—turn dim—go out. And it is darkness.
“The strikers!” exclaims the first bourgeois.
“The electricians!” cries the second.