第 76 页

"All the same, my dear," at last said Madame Toussaint, weary of her

sister-in-law's endless narrative of worries, "you have had one piece of

luck. You won't have the trouble of bringing up a third child, now."

"That's true," replied Hortense, with a sigh of relief. "How we should

have managed, I don't know.... Still, I was very ill, and I'm far from

being in good health now. The doctor says that I don't eat enough, and

that I ought to have good food."

Then she rose for the purpose of giving her brother another kiss and

taking her departure; for she feared a scene on her husband's part should

he happen to come home and find her absent. Once on her feet, however,

she lingered there a moment longer, saying that she also had just seen

her sister, Madame Theodore, and little Celine, both of them comfortably

clad and looking happy. And with a touch of jealousy she added: "Well, my

husband contents himself with slaving away at his office every day. He'll

never do anything to get his head cut off; and it's quite certain that

nobody will think of leaving an income to Marcelle and Lucienne....

Well, good by, my dear, you must be brave, one must always hope that

things will turn out for the best."

When she had gone off, Pierre and Thomas inquired if M. Grandidier had

heard of Toussaint's misfortune and agreed to do anything for him. Madame

Toussaint answered that he had so far made only a vague promise; and on

learning this they resolved to speak to him as warmly as they could on

behalf of the old mechanician, who had spent as many as five and twenty

years at the works. The misfortune was that a scheme for establishing a

friendly society, and even a pension fund, which had been launched before

the crisis from which the works were now recovering, had collapsed

through a number of obstacles and complications. Had things turned out

otherwise, Thomas might have had a pittance assured him, even though he

was unable to work. But under the circumstances the only hope for the

poor stricken fellow lay in his employer's compassion, if not his sense

of justice.

As the baby again began to cry, Madame Toussaint went to fetch it, and

she was once more carrying it to and fro, when Thomas pressed her

husband's sound hand between both his own. "We will come back," said the

young man; "we won't forsake you, Toussaint. You know very well that

people like you, for you've always been a good and steady workman. So

rely on us, we will do all we can."

Then they left him tearful and overpowered, in that dismal room, while,

up and down beside him, his wife rocked the squealing infant--that other

luckless creature, who was now so heavy on the old folks' hands, and like

them was fated to die of want and unjust toil.

Toil, manual toil, panting at every effort, this was what Pierre and

Thomas once more found at the works. From the slender pipes above the

roofs spurted rhythmical puffs of steam, which seemed like the very

breath of all that labour. And in the work-shops one found a continuous

rumbling, a whole army of men in motion, forging, filing, and piercing,

amidst the spinning of leather gearing and the trembling of machinery.

The day was ending with a final feverish effort to complete some task or

other before the bell should ring for departure.

On inquiring for the master Thomas learnt that he had not been seen since

_dejeuner_, which was such an unusual occurrence that the young man at

once feared some terrible scene in the silent pavilion, whose shutters

were ever closed upon Grandidier's unhappy wife--that mad but beautiful

creature, whom he loved so passionately that he had never been willing to

part from her. The pavilion could be seen from the little glazed

work-shop which Thomas usually occupied, and as he and Pierre stood

waiting there, it looked very peaceful and pleasant amidst the big

lilac-bushes planted round about it. Surely, they thought, it ought to

have been brightened by the gay gown of a young woman and the laughter of

playful children. But all at once a loud, piercing shriek reached their

ears, followed by howls and moans, like those of an animal that is being

beaten or possibly slaughtered. Ah! those howls ringing out amidst all

the stir of the toiling works, punctuated it seemed by the rhythmical

puffing of the steam, accompanied too by the dull rumbling of the

machinery! The receipts of the business had been doubling and doubling

since the last stock-taking; there was increase of prosperity every

month, the bad times were over, far behind. Grandidier was realising a

large fortune with his famous bicycle for the million, the "Lisette"; and

the approaching vogue of motor-cars also promised huge gains, should he

again start making little motor-engines, as he meant to do, as soon as

Thomas's long-projected motor should be perfected. But what was wealth

when in that dismal pavilion, whose shutters were ever closed, those

frightful shrieks continued, proclaiming some terrible drama, which all

the stir and bustle of the prosperous works were unable to stifle?

Pierre and Thomas looked at one another, pale and quivering. And all at

once, as the cries ceased and the pavilion sank into death-like silence

once more, the latter said in an undertone: "She is usually very gentle,

she will sometimes spend whole days sitting on a carpet like a little

child. He is fond of her when she is like that; he lays her down and

picks her up, caresses her and makes her laugh as if she were a baby. Ah!

how dreadfully sad it is! When an attack comes upon her she gets frantic,

tries to bite herself, and kill herself by throwing herself against the

walls. And then he has to struggle with her, for no one else is allowed

to touch her. He tries to restrain her, and holds her in his arms to calm

her.... But how terrible it was just now! Did you hear? I do not think

she has ever had such a frightful attack before."

For a quarter of an hour longer profound silence prevailed. Then

Grandidier came out of the pavilion, bareheaded and still ghastly pale.

Passing the little glazed work-shop on his way, he perceived Thomas and

Pierre there, and at once came in. But he was obliged to lean against a

bench like a man who is dazed, haunted by a nightmare. His good-natured,

energetic face retained an expression of acute anguish; and his left ear

was scratched and bleeding. However, he at once wished to talk, overcome

his feelings, and return to his life of activity. "I am very pleased to

see you, my dear Thomas," said he, "I have been thinking over what you

told me about our little motor. We must go into the matter again."

Seeing how distracted he was, it occurred to the young man that some

sudden diversion, such as the story of another's misfortunes, might

perhaps draw him from his haunting thoughts. "Of course I am at your

disposal," he replied; "but before talking of that matter I should like

to tell you that we have just seen Toussaint, that poor old fellow who

has been stricken with paralysis. His awful fate has quite distressed us.

He is in the greatest destitution, forsaken as it were by the roadside,

after all his years of labour."

Thomas dwelt upon the quarter of a century which the old workman had

spent at the factory, and suggested that it would be only just to take

some account of his long efforts, the years of his life which he had

devoted to the establishment. And he asked that he might be assisted in

the name both of equity and compassion.

"Ah! monsieur," Pierre in his turn ventured to say. "I should like to

take you for an instant into that bare room, and show you that poor,

aged, worn-out, stricken man, who no longer has even the power of speech

left him to tell people his sufferings. There can be no greater

wretchedness than to die in this fashion, despairing of all kindliness

and justice."

Grandidier had listened to them in silence. But big tears had

irresistibly filled his eyes, and when he spoke it was in a very low and

tremulous voice: "The greatest wretchedness, who can tell what it is? Who

can speak of it if he has not known the wretchedness of others? Yes, yes,

it's sad undoubtedly that poor Toussaint should be reduced to that state

at his age, not knowing even if he will have food to eat on the morrow.

But I know sorrows that are just as crushing, abominations which poison

one's life in a still greater degree.... Ah! yes, food indeed! To

think that happiness will reign in the world when everybody has food to

eat! What an idiotic hope!"

The whole grievous tragedy of his life was in the shudder which had come

over him. To be the employer, the master, the man who is making money,

who disposes of capital and is envied by his workmen, to own an

establishment to which prosperity has returned, whose machinery coins

gold, apparently leaving one no other trouble than that of pocketing

one's profits; and yet at the same time to be the most wretched of men,

to know no day exempt from anguish, to find each evening at one's hearth

no other reward or prop than the most atrocious torture of the heart!

Everything, even success, has to be paid for. And thus that triumpher,

that money-maker, whose pile was growing larger at each successive

inventory, was sobbing with bitter grief.

However, he showed himself kindly disposed towards Toussaint, and

promised to assist him. As for a pension that was an idea which he could

not entertain, as it was the negation of the wage-system such as it

existed. He energetically defended his rights as an employer, repeating

that the strain of competition would compel him to avail himself of them

so long as the present system should endure. His part in it was to do

good business in an honest way. However, he regretted that his men had

never carried out the scheme of establishing a relief fund, and he said

that he would do his best to induce them to take it in hand again.

Some colour had now come back to his checks; for on returning to the

interests of his life of battle he felt his energy restored. He again

reverted to the question of the little motor, and spoke of it for some

time with Thomas, while Pierre waited, feeling quite upset. Ah! he

thought, how universal was the thirst for happiness! Then, in spite of

the many technical terms that were used he caught a little of what the

others were saying. Small steam motors had been made at the works in

former times; but they had not proved successes. In point of fact a new

propelling force was needed. Electricity, though everyone foresaw its

future triumph, was so far out of the question on account of the weight

of the apparatus which its employment necessitated. So only petroleum

remained, and the inconvenience attaching to its use was so great that

victory and fortune would certainly rest with the manufacturer who should

be able to replace it by some other hitherto unknown agent. In the

discovery and adaptation of the latter lay the whole problem.

"Yes, I am eager about it now," at last exclaimed Grandidier in an

animated way. "I allowed you to prosecute your experiments without

troubling you with any inquisitive questions. But a solution is becoming

imperative."

Thomas smiled: "Well, you must remain patient just a little longer," said

he; "I believe that I am on the right road."

Then Grandidier shook hands with him and Pierre, and went off to make his

usual round through his busy, bustling works, whilst near at hand,

awaiting his return, stood the closed pavilion, where every evening he

was fated to relapse into endless, incurable anguish.

The daylight was already waning when Pierre and Thomas, after

re-ascending the height of Montmartre, walked towards the large work-shop

which Jahan, the sculptor, had set up among the many sheds whose erection

had been necessitated by the building of the Sacred Heart. There was here

a stretch of ground littered with materials, an extraordinary chaos of

building stone, beams and machinery; and pending the time when an army of

navvies would come to set the whole place in order, one could see gaping

trenches, rough flights of descending steps and fences, imperfectly

closing doorways which conducted to the substructures of the basilica.

Halting in front of Jahan's work-shop, Thomas pointed to one of these

doorways by which one could reach the foundation works. "Have you never

had an idea of visiting the foundations?" he inquired of Pierre. "There's

quite a city down there on which millions of money have been spent. They

could only find firm soil at the very base of the height, and they had to

excavate more than eighty shafts, fill them with concrete, and then rear

their church on all those subterranean columns.... Yes, that is so. Of

course the columns cannot be seen, but it is they who hold that insulting

edifice aloft, right over Paris!"

Having drawn near to the fence, Pierre was looking at an open doorway

beyond it, a sort of dark landing whence steps descended as if into the

bowels of the earth. And he thought of those invisible columns of

concrete, and of all the stubborn energy and desire for domination which

had set and kept the edifice erect.

Thomas was at last obliged to call him. "Let us make haste," said he,

"the twilight will soon be here. We shan't be able to see much."

They had arranged to meet Antoine at Jahan's, as the sculptor wished to

show them a new model he had prepared. When they entered the work-shop

they found the two assistants still working at the colossal angel which

had been ordered for the basilica. Standing on a scaffolding they were

rough-hewing its symmetrical wings, whilst Jahan, seated on a low chair,

with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands soiled with clay,

was contemplating a figure some three feet high on which he had just been

working.

"Ah! it's you," he exclaimed. "Antoine has been waiting more than half an