Bab Bab 20 · 第20章

It was at the Bon-Joyeux, Widow Désir's, that the private meeting was

organized for Thursday at two o'clock. The widow, incensed at the

miseries inflicted on her children the colliers, was in a constant

state of anger, especially as her inn was emptying. Never had there

been a less thirsty strike; the drunkards had shut themselves up at

home for fear of disobeying the sober word of command. Thus Montsou,

which swarmed with people on feast-days, now exhibited its wide street

in mute and melancholy desolation. No beer flowed from counters or

bellies, the gutters were dry. On the pavement at the Casimir Bar and

the Estaminet du Progrés one only saw the pale faces of the landladies,

looking inquiringly into the street; then in Montsou itself the

deserted doors extended from the Estaminet Lenfant to the Estaminet

Tison, passing by the Estaminet Piquette and the Tête-Coupée Bar; only

the Estaminet Saint-Éloi, which was frequented by captains, still drew

occasional glasses; the solitude even extended to the Volcan, where the

ladies were resting for lack of admirers, although they had lowered

their price from ten sous to five in view of the hard times. A deep

mourning was breaking the heart of the entire country.

"By God!" exclaimed Widow Désir, slapping her thighs with both hands,

"it's the fault of the gendarmes! Let them run me in, devil take them,

if they like, but I must plague them."

For her, all authorities and masters were gendarmes; it was a term of

general contempt in which she enveloped all the enemies of the people.

She had greeted Étienne's request with transport; her whole house

belonged to the miners, she would lend her ball-room gratuitously,

and would herself issue the invitations since the law required it.

Besides, if the law was not pleased, so much the better! She would give

them a bit of her mind. Since yesterday the young man had brought her

some fifty letters to sign; he had them copied by neighbours in the

settlement who knew how to write, and these letters were sent around

among the pits to delegates and to men of whom they were sure. The

avowed order of the day was a discussion regarding the continuation of

the strike; but in reality they were expecting Pluchart, and reckoning

on a discourse from him which would cause a general adhesion to the

International.

On Thursday morning Étienne was disquieted by the non-appearance of his

old foreman, who had promised by letter to arrive on Wednesday evening.

What, then, was happening? He was annoyed that he would not be able to

come to an understanding with him before the meeting. At nine o'clock

he went to Montsou, with the idea that the mechanic had, perhaps, gone

there direct without stopping at the Voreux.

"No, I've not seen your friend," replied Widow Désir. "But everything

is ready. Come and see."

She led him into the ball-room. The decorations were the same, the

garlands which supported at the ceiling a crown of painted paper

flowers, and the gilt cardboard shields in a line along the wall with

the names of saints, male and female. Only the musicians' platform had

been replaced by a table and three chairs in one corner; and the room

was furnished with forms ranged along the floor.

"It's perfect," Étienne declared.

"And you know," said the widow, "that you're at home here. Yell as much

as you like. The gendarmes will have to pass over my body if they do

come!"

In spite of his anxiety, he could not help smiling when he looked at

her, so vast did she appear, with a pair of breasts so huge that one

alone would require a man to embrace it, which now led to the saying

that of her six weekday lovers she had to take two every evening on

account of the work.

But Étienne was astonished to see Rasseneur and Souvarine enter; and as

the widow left them all three in the large empty hall he exclaimed:

"What! you here already!"

Souvarine, who had worked all night at the Voreux, the engine-men not

being on strike, had merely come out of curiosity. As to Rasseneur, he

had seemed constrained during the last two days, and his fat round face

had lost its good-natured laugh.

"Pluchart has not arrived, and I am very anxious," added Étienne.

The innkeeper turned away his eyes, and replied between his teeth:

"I'm not surprised; I don't expect him."

"What!"

Then he made up his mind, and looking the other man in the face bravely:

"I, too, have sent him a letter, if you want me to tell you; and in

that letter I have begged him not to come. Yes, I think we ought to

manage our own affairs ourselves, without turning to strangers."

Étienne, losing his self-possession and trembling with anger, turned

his eyes on his mate's and stammered:

"You've done that, you've done that?"

"I have done that, certainly! and you know that I trust Pluchart; he's

a knowing fellow and reliable, one can get on with him. But you see I

don't care a damn for your ideas, I don't! Politics, Government, and

all that, I don't care a damn for it! What I want is for the miner to

be better treated. I have worked down below for twenty years, I've

sweated down there with fatigue and misery, and I've sworn to make it

easier for the poor beggars who are there still; and I know well enough

you'll never get anything with all your ideas, you'll only make the

men's fate more miserable still. When they are forced by hunger to go

down again, they will be more crushed than ever; the Company will pay

them with strokes of the stick, like a runaway dog who is brought back

to his kennel. That's what I want to prevent, do you see!"

He raised his voice, protruding his belly and squarely planted on his

big legs. The man's whole patient, reasonable nature was revealed in

clear phrases, which flowed abundantly without an effort. Was it not

absurd to believe that with one stroke one could change the world,

putting the workers in the place of the masters and dividing gold as

one divides an apple? It would, perhaps, take thousands and thousands

of years for that to be realized. There, hold your tongue, with your

miracles! The most sensible plan was, if one did not wish to break

one's nose, to go straight forward, to demand possible reforms, in

short, to improve the lot of the workers on every occasion. He did

his best, so far as he occupied himself with it, to bring the Company

to better terms; if not, damn it all! they would only starve by being

obstinate.

Étienne had let him speak, his own speech cut short by indignation.

Then he cried:

"Haven't you got any blood in your veins, by God?"

At one moment he would have struck him, and to resist the temptation

he rushed about the hall with long strides, venting his fury on the

benches through which he made a passage.

"Shut the door, at all events," Souvarine remarked. "There is no need

to be heard."

Having himself gone to shut it, he quietly sat down in one of the

office chairs. He had rolled a cigarette, and was looking at the other

two men with his mild subtle eye, his lips drawn by a slight smile.

"You won't get any farther by being angry," said Rasseneur judiciously.

"I believed at first that you had good sense. It was sensible to

recommend calmness to the mates, to force them to keep indoors, and to

use your power to maintain order. And now you want to get them into a

mess!"

At each turn in his walks among the benches, Étienne returned towards

the innkeeper, seizing him by the shoulders, shaking him, and shouting

out his replies in his face.

"But, blast it all! I mean to be calm. Yes, I have imposed order on

them! Yes, I do advise them still not to stir! only it doesn't do to be

made a joke of after all! You are lucky to remain cool. Now there are

hours when I feel that I am losing my head."

This was a confession on his part. He railed at his illusions of a

novice, his religious dream of a city in which justice would soon

reign among the men who had become brothers. A fine method truly!

to cross one's arms and wait, if one wished to see men eating each

other to the end of the world like wolves. No! one must interfere, or

injustice would be eternal, and the rich would for ever suck the blood

of the poor. Therefore he could not forgive himself the stupidity

of having said formerly that politics ought to be banished from the

social question. He knew nothing then; now he had read and studied,

his ideas were ripe, and he boasted that he had a system. He explained

it badly, however, in confused phrases which contained a little of

all the theories he had successively passed through and abandoned.

At the summit Karl Marx's idea remained standing: capital was the

result of spoliation, it was the duty and the privilege of labour

to reconquer that stolen wealth. In practice he had at first, with

Proudhon, been captured by the chimera of a mutual credit, a vast bank

of exchange which suppressed middlemen; then Lassalle's cooperative

societies, endowed by the state, gradually transforming the earth into

a single industrial town, had aroused his enthusiasm until he grew

disgusted in face of the difficulty of controlling them; and he had

arrived recently at collectivism, demanding that all the instruments

of production should be restored to the community. But this remained

vague; he knew not how to realize this new dream, still hindered by

scruples of reason and good sense, not daring to risk the secretary's

absolute affirmations. He simply said that it was a question of getting

possession of the government first of all. Afterwards they would see.

"But what has taken you? Why are you going over to the bourgeois?" he

continued violently, again planting himself before the innkeeper. "You

said yourself it would have to burst up!"

Rasseneur blushed slightly.

"Yes, I said so. And if it does burst up, you will see that I am no

more of a coward than any one else. Only I refuse to be among those who

increase the mess in order to fish out a position for themselves."

Étienne blushed in his turn. The two men no longer shouted, having

become bitter and spiteful, conquered by the coldness of their rivalry.

It was at bottom that which always strains systems, making one man

revolutionary in the extreme, pushing the other to an affectation of

prudence, carrying them, in spite of themselves, beyond their true

ideas into those fatal parts which men do not choose for themselves.

And Souvarine, who was listening, exhibited on his pale, girlish face

a silent contempt--the crushing contempt of the man who was willing

to yield his life in obscurity without even gaining the splendour of

martyrdom.

"Then it's to me that you're saying that?" asked Étienne; "you're

jealous!"

"Jealous of what?" replied Rasseneur. "I don't pose as a big man; I'm

not trying to create a section at Montsou for the sake of being made

secretary."

The other man wanted to interrupt him, but he added:

"Why don't you be frank? You don't care a damn for the International;

you're only burning to be at our head, the gentleman who corresponds

with the famous Federal Council of the Nord!"

There was silence. Étienne replied, quivering:

"Good! I don't think I have anything to reproach myself with. I always

asked your advice, for I knew that you had fought here long before me.

But since you can't endure any one by your side, I'll act alone in

future. And first I warn you that the meeting will take place even if

Pluchart does not come, and the mates will join in spite of you."

"Oh! join!" muttered the innkeeper; "that's not enough. You'll have to

get them to pay their subscriptions."

"Not at all. The International grants time to workers on strike. It

will at once come to our help, and we shall pay later on."

Rasseneur was carried beyond himself.

"Well, we shall see. I belong to this meeting of yours, and I shall

speak. I shall not let you turn our friends' heads, I shall let them

know where their real interests lie. We shall see whom they mean to

follow--me, whom they have known for thirty years, or you, who have

turned everything upside down among us in less than a year. No, no!

damn it all! We shall see which of us is going to crush the other."

And he went out, banging the door. The garlands of flowers swayed from

the ceiling, and the gilt shields jumped against the walls. Then the

great room fell back into its heavy calm.

Souvarine was smoking in his quiet way, seated before the table.

After having paced for a moment in silence, Étienne began to relieve

his feelings at length. Was it his fault if they had left that fat

lazy fellow to come to him? And he defended himself from having ought

popularity. He knew not even how it had happened, this friendliness

of the settlement, the confidence of the miners, the power which he

now had over them. He was indignant at being accused of wishing to

bring everything to confusion out of ambition; he struck his chest,

protesting his brotherly feelings.

Suddenly he stopped before Souvarine and exclaimed:

"Do you know, if I thought I should cost a drop of blood to a friend, I

would go off at once to America!"

The engine-man shrugged his shoulders, and a smile again came on his

lips.

"Oh! blood!" he murmured. "What does that matter? The earth has need of

it."

Étienne, growing calm, took a chair, and put his elbows on the other

side of the table. This fair face, with the dreamy eyes, which

sometimes grew savage with a red light, disturbed him, and exercised

a singular power over his will. In spite of his comrade's silence,

conquered even by that silence, he felt himself gradually absorbed.

"Well," he asked, "what would you do in my place? Am I not right to act

as I do? Isn't it best for us to join this association?"

Souvarine, after having slowly ejected a jet of smoke, replied by his

favourite word:

"Oh, foolery! but meanwhile it's always so. Besides, their

International will soon begin to move. He has taken it up."

"Who, then?"

"He!"

He had pronounced this word in a whisper, with religious fervour,

casting a glance towards the east. He was speaking of the master,

Bakunin the destroyer.

"He alone can give the thunderclap," he went on, "while your learned

men, with their evolution, are mere cowards. Before three years are

past, the International, under his orders, will crush the old world."

Étienne pricked up his ears in attention. He was burning to gain

knowledge, to understand this worship of destruction, regarding which

the engine-man only uttered occasional obscure words, as though he kept

certain mysteries to himself.

"Well, but explain to me. What is your aim?"

"To destroy everything. No more nations, no more governments, no more

property, no more God nor worship."

"I quite understand. Only what will that lead you to?"

"To the primitive formless commune, to a new world, to the renewal of

everything."

"And the means of execution? How do you reckon to set about it?"

"By fire, by poison, by the dagger. The brigand is the true hero, the

popular avenger, the revolutionary in action, with no phrases drawn

out of books. We need a series of tremendous outrages to frighten the

powerful and to arouse the people."

As he talked, Souvarine grew terrible. An ecstasy raised him on his

chair, a mystic flame darted from his pale eyes, and his delicate hands

gripped the edge of the table almost to breaking. The other man looked

at him in fear, and thought of the stories of which he had received

vague intimation, of mines charged beneath the tsar's palace, of chiefs

of police struck down by knives like wild boars, of his mistress, the

only woman he had loved, hanged at Moscow one rainy morning, while in

the crowd he kissed her with his eyes for the last time.

"No! no!" murmured Étienne, as with a gesture he pushed away these

abominable visions, "we haven't got to that yet over here. Murder and

fire, never! It is monstrous, unjust, all the mates would rise and

strangle the guilty one!"

And besides, he could not understand; the instincts of his race refused

to accept this sombre dream of the extermination of the world, mown

level like a rye-field. Then what would they do afterwards? How would

the nations spring up again? He demanded a reply.

"Tell me your programme. We like to know where we are going to."

Then Souvarine concluded peacefully, with his gaze fixed on space:

"All reasoning about the future is criminal, because it prevents pure

destruction, and interferes with the progress of revolution."

This made Étienne laugh, in spite of the cold shiver which passed over

his flesh. Besides, he willingly acknowledged that there was something

in these ideas, which attracted him by their fearful simplicity. Only

it would be playing into Rasseneur's hands if he were to repeat such

things to his comrades. It was necessary to be practical.

Widow Désir proposed that they should have lunch. They agreed, and

went into the inn parlour, which was separated from the ball-room on

weekdays by a movable partition. When they had finished their omelette

and cheese, the engine-man proposed to depart, and as the other tried

to detain him:

"What for? To listen to you talking useless foolery? I've seen enough

of it. Good day."

He went off in his gentle, obstinate way, with a cigarette between his

lips.

Étienne's anxiety increased. It was one o'clock, and Pluchart was

decidedly breaking his promise. Towards half-past one the delegates

began to appear, and he had to receive them, for he wished to see

who entered, for fear that the Company might send its usual spies.

He examined every letter of invitation, and took note of those who

entered; many came in without a letter, as they were admitted provided

he knew them. As two o'clock struck Rasseneur entered, finishing

his pipe at the counter, and chatting without haste. This provoking

calmness still further disturbed Étienne, all the more as many had come

merely for fun--Zacharie, Mouquet, and others. These cared little about

the strike, and found it a great joke to do nothing. Seated at tables,

and spending their last two sous on drink, they grinned and bantered

their mates, the serious ones, who had come to make fools of themselves.

Another quarter of an hour passed; there was impatience in the hall.

Then Étienne, in despair, made a gesture of resolution. And he decided

to enter, when Widow Désir, who was putting her head outside, exclaimed:

"But here he is, your gentleman!"

It was, in fact, Pluchart. He came in a cab drawn by a broken-winded

horse. He jumped at once on to the pavement, a thin, insipidly handsome

man, with a large square head;--in his black cloth frock-coat he had

the Sunday air of a well-to-do workman. For five years he had not done

a stroke with the file, and he took care of his appearance, especially

combing his hair in a correct manner, vain of his successes on the

platform; but his limbs were still stiff, and the nails of his large

hands, eaten by the iron, had not grown again. Very active, he worked

out his ambitions, scouring the province unceasingly in order to place

his ideas.

"Ah! don't be angry with me," he said, anticipating questions and

reproaches. "Yesterday, lecture at Preuilly in the morning, meeting in

the evening at Valencay. Today, lunch at Marchiennes with Sauvagnat.

Then I had to take a cab. I'm worn out; you can tell by my voice. But

that's nothing; I shall speak all the same."

He was on the threshold of the Bon-Joyeux, when he bethought himself.

"By jingo! I'm forgetting the tickets. We should have been in a fine

fix!"

He went back to the cab, which the cabman drew up again, and he pulled

out a little black wooden box, which he carried off under his arm.

Étienne walked radiantly in his shadow, while Rasseneur, in

consternation, did not dare to offer his hand. But the other was

already pressing it, and saying a rapid word or two about the letter.

What a rum idea! Why not hold this meeting? One should always hold a

meeting when possible. Widow Désir asked if he would take anything,

but he refused. No need; he spoke without drinking. Only he was in

a hurry, because in the evening he reckoned on pushing as far as

Joiselle, where he wished to come to an understanding with Legoujeux.

Then they all entered the ball-room together. Maheu and Levaque, who

had arrived late, followed them. The door was then locked, in order to

be in privacy. This made the jokers laugh even more, Zacharie shouting

to Mouquet that perhaps they were going to get them all with child in

there.

About a hundred miners were waiting on the benches in the close air of

the room, with the warm odours of the last ball rising from the floor.

Whispers ran round and all heads turned, while the new-comers sat down

in the empty places. They gazed at the Lille gentleman, and the black

frock-coat caused a certain surprise and discomfort.

But on Étienne's proposition the meeting was at once constituted. He

gave out the names, while the others approved by lifting their hands.

Pluchart was nominated chairman, and Maheu and Étienne himself were

voted stewards. There was a movement of chairs and the officers were

installed; for a moment they watched the chairman disappear beneath the

table under which he slid the box, which he had not let go. When he

reappeared he struck lightly with his fist to call for attention; then

he began in a hoarse voice:

"Citizens!"

A little door opened and he had to stop. It was Widow Désir who, coming

round by the kitchen, brought in six glasses on a tray.

"Don't put yourselves out," she said. "When one talks one gets thirsty."

Maheu relieved her of the tray and Pluchart was able to go on. He said

how very touched he was at his reception by the Montsou workers, he

excused himself for his delay, mentioning his fatigue and his sore

throat, then he gave place to Citizen Rasseneur, who wished to speak.

Rasseneur had already planted himself beside the table near the

glasses. The back of a chair served him as a rostrum. He seemed very

moved, and coughed before starting in a loud voice:

"Mates!"

What gave him his influence over the workers at the pit was the

facility of his speech, the good-natured way in which he could go

on talking to them by the hour without ever growing weary. He never

ventured to gesticulate, but stood stolid and smiling, drowning them

and dazing them, until they all shouted: "Yes, yes, that's true enough,

you're right!" However, on this day, from the first word, he felt that

there was a sullen opposition. This made him advance prudently. He

only discussed the continuation of the strike, and waited for applause

before attacking the International. Certainly honour prevented them

from yielding to the Company's demands; but how much misery! what

a terrible future if it was necessary to persist much longer! and

without declaring for submission he damped their courage, he showed

them the settlements dying of hunger, he asked on what resources the

partisans of resistance were counting. Three or four friends tried to

applaud him, but this accentuated the cold silence of the majority,

and the gradually rising disapprobation which greeted his phrases.

Then, despairing of winning them over, he was carried away by anger,

he foretold misfortune if they allowed their heads to be turned at

the instigation of strangers. Two-thirds of the audience had risen

indignantly, trying to silence him, since he insulted them by treating

them like children unable to act for themselves. But he went on

speaking in spite of the tumult, taking repeated gulps of beer, and

shouting violently that the man was not born who would prevent him from

doing his duty.

Pluchart had risen. As he had no bell he struck his fist on the table,

repeating in his hoarse voice:

"Citizens, citizens!"

At last he obtained a little quiet and the meeting, when consulted,

brought Rasseneur's speech to an end. The delegates who had represented

the pits in the interview with the manager led the others, all enraged

by starvation and agitated by new ideas. The voting was decided in

advance.

"You don't care a damn, you don't! you can eat!" yelled Levaque,

thrusting out his fist at Rasseneur.

Étienne leaned over behind the chairman's back to appease Maheu, who

was very red, and carried out of himself by this hypocritical discourse.

"Citizens!" said Pluchart, "allow me to speak!"

There was deep silence. He spoke. His voice sounded painful and hoarse;

but he was used to it on his journeys, and took his laryngitis about

with him like his programme. Gradually his voice expanded and he

produced pathetic effects with it. With open arms and accompanying his

periods with a swaying of his shoulders, he had an eloquence which

recalled the pulpit, a religious fashion of sinking the ends of his

sentences whose monotonous roll at last carried conviction.

His discourse centred on the greatness and the advantages of the

International; it was that with which he always started in every new

locality. He explained its aim, the emancipation of the workers; he

showed its imposing structure--below the commune, higher the province,

still higher the nation, and at the summit humanity. His arms moved

slowly, piling up the stages, preparing the immense cathedral of the

future world. Then there was the internal administration: he read the

statutes, spoke of the congresses, pointed out the growing importance

of the work, the enlargement of the programme, which, starting from the

discussion of wages, was now working towards a social liquidation, to

have done with the wage system. No more nationalities. The workers of

the whole world would be united by a common need for justice, sweeping

away the middle-class corruption, founding, at last, a free society,

in which he who did not work should not reap! He roared; his breath

startled the flowers of painted paper beneath the low smoky ceiling

which sent back the sound of his voice.

A wave passed through the audience. Some of them cried:

"That's it! We're with you."

He went on. The world would be conquered before three years. And he

enumerated the nations already conquered. From all sides adhesions were

raining in. Never had a young religion counted so many disciples. Then,

when they had the upper hand they would dictate terms to the masters,

who, in their turn, would have a fist at their throats.

"Yes, yes! they'll have to go down!"

With a gesture he enforced silence. Now he was entering on the strike

question. In principle he disapproved of strikes; it was a slow method,

which aggravated the sufferings of the worker. But before better things

arrived, and when they were inevitable, one must make up one's mind

to them, for they had the advantage of disorganizing capital. And in

this case he showed the International as providence for strikers, and

quoted examples: in Paris, during the strike of the bronze-workers, the

masters had granted everything at once, terrified at the news that the

International was sending help; in London it had saved the miners at a

colliery, by sending back, at its own expense, a ship-load of Belgians

who had been brought over by the coal-owner. It was sufficient to join

and the companies trembled, for the men entered the great army of

workers who were resolved to die for one another rather than to remain

the slaves of a capitalistic society.

Applause interrupted him. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief,

at the same time refusing a glass which Maheu passed to him. When he

was about to continue fresh applause cut short his speech.

"It's all right," he said rapidly to Étienne. "They've had enough.

Quick! the cards!"

He had plunged beneath the table, and reappeared with the little black

wooden box.

"Citizens!" he shouted, dominating the disturbance, "here are the cards

of membership. Let your delegates come up, and I will give them to them

to be distributed. Later on we can arrange everything."

Rasseneur rushed forward and again protested. Étienne was also

agitated; having to make a speech. Extreme confusion followed. Levaque

jumped up with his fists out, as if to fight. Maheu was up and

speaking, but nobody could distinguish a single word. In the growing

tumult the dust rose from the floor, a floating dust of former balls,

poisoning the air with a strong odour of putters and trammers.

Suddenly the little door opened, and Widow Désir filled it with her

belly and breast, shouting in a thundering voice:

"For God's sake, silence! The gendarmes!"

It was the commissioner of the district, who had arrived rather late

to prepare a report and to break up the meeting. Four gendarmes

accompanied him. For five minutes the widow had delayed them at the

door, replying that she was at home, and that she had a perfect right

to entertain her friends. But they had hustled her away, and she had

rushed in to warn her children.

"Must clear out through here," she said again. "There's a dirty

gendarme guarding the court. It doesn't matter; my little wood-house

opens into the alley. Quick, then!" The commissioner was already

knocking with his fist, and as the door was not opened, he threatened

to force it. A spy must have talked, for he cried that the meeting was

illegal, a large number of miners being there without any letter of

invitation.

In the hall the trouble was growing. They could not escape thus; they

had not even voted either for adhesion or for the continuation of the

strike. All persisted in talking at the same time. At last the chairman

suggested a vote by acclamation. Arms were raised, and the delegates

declared hastily that they would join in the name of their absent

mates. And it was thus that the ten thousand colliers of Montsou became

members of the International. Meanwhile, the retreat began. In order to

cover it, Widow Désir had propped herself up against the door, which

the butt-ends of the gendarmes' muskets were forcing at her back. The

miners jumped over the benches, and escaped, one by one, through the

kitchen and the wood-yard. Rasseneur disappeared among the first, and

Levaque followed him, forgetful of his abuse, and planning how he could

get an offer of a glass to pull himself together. Étienne, after having

seized the little box, waited with Pluchart and Maheu, who considered

it a point of honour to emerge last. As they disappeared the lock gave,

and the commissioner found himself in the presence of the widow, whose

breast and belly still formed a barricade.

"It doesn't help you much to smash everything in my house," she said.

"You can see there's nobody here."

The commissioner, a slow man who did not care for scenes, simply

threatened to take her off to prison. And he then went away with his

four gendarmes to prepare a report, beneath the jeers of Zacharie and

Mouquet, who were full of admiration for the way in which their mates

had humbugged this armed force, for which they themselves did not care

a hang.

In the alley outside, Étienne, embarrassed by the box, was rushing

along, followed by the others. He suddenly thought of Pierron, and

asked why he had not turned up. Maheu, also running, replied that he

was ill--a convenient illness, the fear of compromising himself. They

wished to retain Pluchart, but, without stopping, he declared that

he must set out at once for Joiselle, where Legoujeux was awaiting

orders. Then, as they ran, they shouted out to him their wishes for a

pleasant journey, and rushed through Montsou with their heels in the

air. A few words were exchanged, broken by the panting of their chests.

Étienne and Maheu were laughing confidently, henceforth certain of

victory. When the International had sent help, it would be the Company

that would beg them to resume work. And in this burst of hope, in

this gallop of big boots sounding over the pavement of the streets,

there was something else also, something sombre and fierce, a gust of

violence which would inflame the settlements in the four corners of the

country.