The head of the bolt was clean, polished, and without a flaw, regular goldsmith’s work, with the roundness of a marble cast in a mold.
The other men looked at it and nodded their heads; there was no denying it was lovely enough to be worshipped.
Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, tried indeed to chuff; but it was no use, and ended by returning to his anvil, with his nose put out of joint.
Gervaise had squeezed up against Goujet, as though to get a better view.
Etienne having let go the bellows, the forge was once more becoming enveloped in shadow, like a brilliant red sunset suddenly giving way to black night.
And the blacksmith and the laundress experienced a sweet pleasure in feeling this gloom surround them in that shed black with soot and filings, and where an odor of old iron prevailed.
They could not have thought themselves more alone in the Bois de Vincennes had they met there in the depths of some copse.
He took her hand as though he had conquered her.
Outside, they scarcely exchanged a word.
All he could find to say was that she might have taken Etienne away with her, had it not been that there was still another half-hour’s work to get through.
When she started away he called her back, wanting a few more minutes with her.
“Come along. You haven’t seen all the place. It’s quite interesting.”
He led her to another shed where the owner was installing a new machine.
She hesitated in the doorway, oppressed by an instinctive dread.
The great hall was vibrating from the machines and black shadows filled the air.
He reassured her with a smile, swearing that there was nothing to fear, only she should be careful not to let her skirts get caught in any of the gears.
He went first and she followed into the deafening hubbub of whistling, amid clouds of steam peopled by human shadows moving busily.
The passages were very narrow and there were obstacles to step over, holes to avoid, passing carts to move back from. She couldn’t distinguish anything clearly or hear what Goujet was saying. Gervaise looked up and stopped to stare at the leather belts hanging from the roof in a gigantic spider web, each strip ceaselessly revolving. The steam engine that drove them was hidden behind a low brick wall so that the belts seemed to be moving by themselves.
She stumbled and almost fell while looking up.
Goujet raised his voice with explanations.
There were the tapping machines operated by women, which put threads on bolts and nuts. Their steel gears were shining with oil.
She could follow the entire process. She nodded her head and smiled. She was still a little tense, however, feeling uneasy at being so small among these rough metalworkers. She jumped back more than once, her blood suddenly chilled by the dull thud of a machine.
Goujet had stopped before one of the rivet machines.
He stood there brooding, his head lowered, his gaze fixed.
This machine forged forty millimetre rivets with the calm ease of a giant.
Nothing could be simpler.
The stoker took the iron shank from the furnace; the striker put it into the socket, where a continuous stream of water cooled it to prevent softening of the steel. The press descended and the bolt flew out onto the ground, its head as round as though cast in a mold.
Every twelve hours this machine made hundreds of kilograms of bolts!
Goujet was not a mean person, but there were moments when he wanted to take Fifine and smash this machine to bits because he was angry to see that its arms were stronger than his own.
He reasoned with himself, telling himself that human flesh cannot compete with steel.
But he was still deeply hurt. The day would come when machinery would destroy the skilled worker. Their day’s pay had already fallen from twelve francs to nine francs. There was talk of cutting it again.
He stared at it, frowning, for three minutes without saying a word. His yellow beard seemed to bristle defiantly.
Then, gradually an expression of resignation came over his face and he turned toward Gervaise who was clinging tightly to him and said with a sad smile:
“Well! That machine would certainly win a contest.
But perhaps it will be for the good of mankind in the long run.”
Gervaise didn’t care a bit about the welfare of mankind.
Smiling, she said to Goujet: “I like yours better, because they show the hand of an artist.”
Hearing this gave him great happiness because he had been afraid that she might be scornful of him after seeing the machines.
Mon Dieu!
He might be stronger than Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, but the machines were stronger yet.
When Gervaise finally took her leave, Goujet was so happy that he almost crushed her with a hug.
The laundress went every Saturday to the Goujets to deliver their washing.
They still lived in the little house in the Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d’Or.
During the first year she had regularly repaid them twenty francs a month; so as not to jumble up the accounts, the washing-book was only made up at the end of each month, and then she added to the amount whatever sum was necessary to make the twenty francs, for the Goujets’ washing rarely came to more than seven or eight francs during that time.
She had therefore paid off nearly half the sum owing, when one quarter day, not knowing what to do, some of her customers not having kept their promises, she had been obliged to go to the Goujets and borrow from them sufficient for her rent.
On two other occasions she had also applied to them for the money to pay her workwomen, so that the debt had increased again to four hundred and twenty-five francs.
Now, she no longer gave a halfpenny; she worked off the amount solely by the washing.
It was not that she worked less, or that her business was not so prosperous.
But something was going wrong in her home; the money seemed to melt away, and she was glad when she was able to make both ends meet.
Mon Dieu! What’s the use of complaining as long as one gets by.