"We don't give work to the wife of a striker," they said.
She had swallowed her tears and had felt a movement of anger. Was it her fault that it had happened? More than all, was it the fault of her poor little ones, who, if the present state of things continued, would become destitute? No; but it was a contest—war between classes. What a frightful misfortune that men could not come to an understanding and help, rather than hate and fight, each other!
IV.—Seditious Placards.
One evening Jacques slunk like a thief up the stairs of his house and entered his room furtively. He was pale, his face contorted, his eyes haggard; and it was with a panting voice he called Marianne.
"I am pursued," he said; "I have come to let you know and to share what money you have—for I must escape."
She threw herself upon his neck.
"What is it you have done?"
"Oh! a mere nothing: posted up some bills on the walls; they say these placards are seditious."
"And you are being pursued?"
"Yes, they are trying to arrest me. I'm not afraid of a prison, but I don't fancy being made to pay for others."