To this he answered that he had worked hard during ten years, and was

fully entitled to his fortune. The fact was that, after beginning life

as a petty commission agent in the coal trade, he had found a bride

with a dowry of fifty thousand francs, and had been skilful or perhaps

simply lucky enough to foresee the strikes, whose frequent recurrence

over a period of nearly ten years were destined to bring about a

considerable rise in the prices of French coal. His great stroke had

consisted in making sure at the lowest possible prices of some very

large stocks of coal abroad and in re-selling them at a huge profit

to French manufacturers when a sudden failure in their own supplies

was forcing them to close their works. At the same time Mazelle had

shown himself a perfect sage, retiring from business when he was nearly

forty--that is, as soon as he found himself in possession of the six

hundred thousand francs which, according to his calculation, would

ensure his wife and himself a life of perfect felicity. He had not

even yielded to the temptation of trying to make a million, for he was

far too much afraid that fortune might play him false. And never had

egotism triumphed more serenely, never had optimism a greater right to

say that everything was for the best in the best of worlds, than in

the case of these perfectly worthy people, who were very fond of one

another and of that tardy arrival, their little girl. Fully satisfied,

free from all feverishness, having no further ambition to satisfy,

they presented a perfect picture of happiness--the happiness which

shuts itself up and does not even glance at the unhappiness of others.

The only little flaw in this happiness lay in the circumstance that

Madame Mazelle, a very plump and blooming dame, imagined that she was

afflicted with some serious, nameless, undefinable complaint, on which

account she was all the more coddled by her ever-smiling husband, who

spoke with a kind of tender vanity about 'my wife's illness' in the

same way as he might have spoken of 'my wife's wonderful golden hair.'

Withal, this supposed illness gave rise to no sadness or fear. And it

was simply with astonishment that the worthy couple contemplated their

little girl, Louise, who was growing up so unlike either of them--that

is, dark, thin, and quick, with an amusing little head, which, with

its obliquely set eyes and slender nose, suggested that of a young

goat. This astonishment of theirs was rapturous, as if the child had

fallen from heaven as a present, to bring a little life into their

sunshiny house, which fell asleep so easily during their long hours of

placid digestion. Beauclair society willingly made fun of the Mazelles,

comparing them to pullets in a fattening pen, but it none the less

respected them, bowed to them, and invited them to its entertainments;

for with their fortune, which was so safe and substantial, they reigned

over the workers, the poorly, paid officials, and even the millionaire

capitalists, since the latter were always liable to some catastrophe.

At last the only other guest expected at La Guerdache that day, Abbé

Marle, the rector of St. Vincent, the rich parish of Beauclair,

arrived, none too soon, however, for the others were about to enter

the dining-room. He apologised for being late, saying that his duties

had detained him. He was a tall, strong man, with a square-shaped

face, a beak-like nose, and a large firm mouth. Still young, only

six-and-thirty, he would willingly have battled for the Faith had it

not been for a slight impediment of speech which rendered preaching

difficult. This explained why he was resigned to burying himself

alive at Beauclair. The expression of his dark stubborn eyes alone

testified to his past dream of a militant career. He was not without

intelligence, he perfectly understood the crisis through which

Catholicism was passing, and whilst preserving silence with respect

to the fears which he sometimes experienced when he saw his church

deserted by the masses, he clung strictly to the letter of the Church's

dogmas, feeling certain that the whole of the ancient edifice would

be swept away should science and the spirit of free examination

ever effect a breach in it. Moreover, he accepted the invitations

to La Guerdache without any illusions concerning the virtues of the

_bourgeoisie_. Indeed, he lunched and dined there in some measure from

a spirit of duty, in order to hide the sores whose existence he divined

there under the cloak of religion.

Luc was delighted with the gay brightness and pleasant luxuriousness of

the spacious dining-room which occupied one end of the ground floor,

and had a number of large windows overlooking the lawns and trees

of the park. All that verdure seemed to belong to the room, which,

with its pearl-grey woodwork and hangings of a soft sea-green, became

like the banqueting-hall of some idyllic _féerie champêtre_. And the

richness of the table, the whiteness of the napery, the blaze of the

silver and crystal, the flowers, too, spread over the board, were a

festival for the eyes amidst a wondrous setting of light and perfume.

So keenly was Luc impressed by it all, that his experiences on the

previous evening suddenly arose before his mind's eyes, and he pictured

the black and hungry toilers tramping through the mud of the Rue de

Brias, the puddlers and drawers roasting themselves before the hellish

flames of the furnaces, and particularly Bonnaire in his wretched home,

and the woeful Josine seated on the stairs, saved from starving that

night, thanks to the loaf which her little brother had stolen. How

much unjust misery there was! And on what accursed toil, what hateful

suffering was based the luxury of the idle and the happy!

At table, where covers were laid for fifteen, Luc found himself placed

between Fernande and Delaveau. Contrary to proper usage, Boisgelin,

who had Madame Mazelle on his right, had placed Fernande on his left.

He ought to have assigned that seat to Madame Gourier, but in friendly

houses it was understood that Léonore ought always to be placed near

her friend Sub-Prefect Châtelard. The latter naturally occupied the

place of honour on Suzanne's right hand, Judge Gaume being on her

left. As for Abbé Marle, he had been placed next to Léonore, his most

assiduous and preferred penitent. Then the betrothed couple, Captain

Jollivet and Lucile, sat at one end of the table facing young Achille

Gourier, who, at the other end, remained silent between Delaveau and

the abbé. And Suzanne, full of foresight, had given orders for the

little table to be set behind her, so that she might be near to watch

it. Seven-year-old Paul presided over it between three-year-old Nise

and three-year-old Louise, who both behaved in a somewhat disquieting

fashion, for their little paws were continually straying over the

plates and into the glasses. Luckily a maid remained beside them, while

at the larger table the waiting was done by the two valets, whom the

coachman assisted.

As soon as the scrambled eggs, accompanied by sauterne, had been

served, a general conversation was started. Reference was made to the

bread supplied by the Beauclair bakers.

'It was impossible for me to get used to it,' said Boisgelin. 'Their

fancy bread is uneatable, so I get mine from Paris.'

He said this in the simplest manner possible, but they all glanced with

vague respect at their rolls. However, the unpleasant occurrences of

the previous evening still haunted every mind, and Fernande exclaimed:

'By the way, do you know that they pillaged a baker's shop in the Rue

de Brias last night?'

Luc could not help laughing. 'Oh, madame, pillaged!' said he, 'I was

there. It was simply a wretched child who stole a loaf.'

'We were there too,' declared Captain Jollivet, ruffled by the

compassionate, excusing tone of the young man's voice. 'It is much to

be regretted that the child was not arrested, at least for example's

sake.'

'No doubt, no doubt,' Boisgelin resumed. 'It seems that there has been

a lot of thievery since that wretched strike. I have been told of a

woman who broke open a butcher's till. All the tradespeople complain

that prowlers fill their pockets with things set out for sale.... And

so our beautiful new prison is now receiving tenants--is that not so,

Monsieur le Président?'

Gaume was about to answer when the Captain violently resumed: 'Yes,

theft unpunished begets pillage and murder. The spirit predominating

among the working-class population is becoming something frightful.

Some of you were out in the town yesterday evening like I was. Didn't

you notice that spirit of revolt, of passing menace--a kind of terror

that made the town tremble? Besides, that Anarchist, Lange, did not

hesitate to tell you what he intended doing. He shouted that he would

blow up Beauclair and sweep away the ruins. As he, at any rate, is

under lock and key, I hope that he will be sharply looked after.'

Jollivet's outspokenness astonished everybody. What was the use of

recalling that gust of terror of which he spoke, and which the others

like himself had felt passing--why revive it, as it were, at that

pleasant table laden with such nice and beautiful things? A chill

spread round; the threat of what the morrow might bring forth resounded

in the ears of all those nervous _bourgeois_ amidst the deep silence,

whilst the valets came and went, offering trout.

Realising that the silence was embarrassing everybody, Delaveau at last

exclaimed: 'Lange shows a detestable spirit. The Captain's right; as

the rascal is under lock and key he should be kept there.'

But Judge Gaume was wagging his head. At last, in his severe way, his

countenance quite rigid, in such wise that one could not tell what

might lurk behind his professional stiffness, he retorted, 'I must

inform you that this morning the investigating magistrate, acting on my

advice, after subjecting the man to a simple interrogatory, made up his

mind to release him.'

Protests arose, concealing real fear beneath humorous exaggeration:

'Oh, do you want us all to be murdered then, Monsieur le Président?'

Gaume replied by slowly waving his hand, a gesture which might mean

many things. After all, the wise course was certainly to refrain from

imparting, by some uproarious trial at law, any excessive importance

to the words which Lange had cast to the winds, for the more those

words were spread, the more would they bear fruit.

Jollivet, who had calmed down, sat gnawing his moustaches, for he did

not wish to contradict his future father-in-law openly. But Sub-Prefect

Châtelard, who had hitherto contented himself with smiling, in the

affable way of a man who puts faith in nothing, exclaimed: 'Ah! I quite

understand your views, Monsieur le Président. What you have done is,

in my opinion, excellent policy. The spirit of the masses is not worse

at Beauclair than it is elsewhere. That spirit is everywhere the same;

one must strive to accustom oneself to it; and the proper course is to

prolong the present state of things as much as possible, for it seems

certain that when a change comes it will be for the worse.'

Luc fancied that he could detect some jeering irony in the words and

manner of that ex-reveller of Paris, who was doubtless amused by the

covert terror of the provincial _bourgeois_ around him. Moreover,

Châtelard's practical policy was summed up entirely in what he had

said; apart from that he evinced superb indifference, no matter what

minister might be in office. The old Government machine continued

working from force of acquired motion; there was grating and there were

jolts, and things would fall to pieces and crumble into dust as soon as

the new social system might appear. There would be a nasty tumble at

the end of the journey, as Châtelard, laughing, was wont to say among

his intimates. The machine rolled on because it was wound up, but at

the first really serious jolt it would go to the deuce. Even the vain

efforts that were attempted to strengthen the crazy old coach, the

timid reforms which were essayed, the useless new laws which men voted

without even daring to put the old ones into force, the furious surging

of ambitions and personalities, the wild, rageful battling of parties,

were only calculated to aggravate and hasten the supreme agony. Such

a _régime_ must feel astonished every morning at finding itself still

erect, and must say to itself that the downfall would surely occur on

the morrow. He, Châtelard, being in no wise a fool, arranged matters

so as to last as long as the _régime_ did. A prudent Republican, as

it was needful to be, he represented the Government just sufficiently

to retain his post, doing only what was necessary, and desiring above

all things to live in peace with those under his jurisdiction. And if

everything should topple over, he at all events would try not to be

under the ruins!

'You see very well,' he concluded, 'that the unfortunate strike which

rendered us all so anxious has ended in the best manner possible.'

Mayor Gourier was not endowed with the sub-prefect's caustic

philosophy, although as a rule they agreed together in such wise as to

facilitate the administration of the town. He now protested: 'Allow

me, allow me, my dear friend, too many concessions might carry us a

long way. I know the working classes, I am fond of them, I am an old

Republican, a democrat of the early days. But if I grant the workers

the right to improve their lot, I will never accept the subversive

theories, those ideas of the Collectivists, which would bring all

civilised society to an end.'

In his loud but trembling voice rang out the fears which he had lately

experienced, the ferocity of a threatened _bourgeois_, the innate

desire for repression which had at one moment displayed itself in a

desire to summon the military, in order that the strikers might be

forced to resume work under the penalty of being shot.

'Well, for my part, I've done everything for the workpeople at my

factory,' he continued; 'they've got relief funds, pension funds, cheap

dwellings, every advantage imaginable. So what more can they want? It

seems as if the world were coming to an end--is that not so, Monsieur

Delaveau?'

The manager of the Abyss had so far continued eating ravenously, and

listening, scarcely taking part in the conversation.

'Oh, coming to an end,' said he, in his quiet energetic manner; 'I

certainly hope that we sha'n't allow the world to end without fighting

a little to make it last. I am of the same opinion as Monsieur le

Sous-Préfet, the strike has ended very well. And I have even had some

good news. Bonnaire, the Collectivist, the leader whom I was compelled

to take back, has done justice to himself--he quitted the works last

night. He is an excellent workman, no doubt; but he's wrong-headed--a

dangerous dreamer. And it is dreaming that leads one to precipices.'

He went on talking, striving to appear very loyal and just. Each had a

right to defend his own interests. By going out on strike the workmen

fancied that they were serving their interests. He, as manager of the

works, defended the capital, the plant, the property entrusted to

him. And he was willing to show some indulgence, since he felt himself

to be the stronger. His one duty was simply to maintain what existed,

the working of the wage-system such as it had been organised by the

wisdom born of experience. All practical truth centred in that; apart

from it there were but criminal dreams, such as that Collectivism,

the enforcement of which would have brought about the most frightful

catastrophes. He also spoke of workmen's unions and syndicates, which

he resisted energetically, for he divined that they might prove a

powerful engine of war. At the same time he triumphed like an active

hard-working manager, who was well pleased that the strike had not

caused greater ravages or become a positive disaster, in such wise as

to prevent him from carrying out his engagements with his cousin that

year.

Just then the two valets were handing round some roast partridges,

whilst the coachman, acting as butler, offered some St. Émilion.

'And so,' said Boisgelin, in a bantering way, 'you promise me that we

sha'n't be reduced to potatoes, and that we may eat those partridges

without any twinges of remorse?'

A loud burst of laughter greeted this jest, which was deemed extremely

witty.

'I promise it,' gaily said Delaveau, who laughed like the others. 'You

may eat and sleep in peace--the revolution which is to carry away your

income won't take place to-morrow.'

Luc, who remained silent, could feel his heart beating. That was indeed

the position, the wage system, the capitalist exploiting the labour of

the others. He advanced five francs, made them produce seven francs,

by making the workmen toil, and spent the two francs profit. At least,

however, that man Delaveau worked, exerted his brain and his muscles;

but by what right did Boisgelin, who had never done anything, live and

eat in such luxury? Luc was struck, too, by the demeanour of Fernande,

who sat beside him. She appeared to be greatly interested in that

conversation, though it seemed little suited to women. She grew both

excited and delighted over the defeat of the toilers and the victory

of that wealth which she devoured like the young wolf she was. Her red

lips curved over, displaying her sharp teeth while she laughed the

laugh of cruelty, as if indeed she were at last satisfying her rancour

and her cravings, in front of the gentle woman whom she was deceiving,

between her foppish lover, whom she dominated, and her blind husband,

who was gaining future millions for her. She seemed to be already

intoxicated by the flowers, the wines, and the viands, intoxicated

especially by perverse delight at employing her radiant beauty to bring

disorder and destruction into that home.

'Isn't there some question of a charity bazaar at the sub-prefecture?'

asked Suzanne of Châtelard in a soft voice. 'Suppose we talk of

something else besides politics?'

The gallant sub-prefect immediately adhered to her views: 'Yes,

certainly, it is unpardonable on our part. I will give every _fête_ you

may desire, dear madame.'

From that moment the general conversation ceased; each reverted to

his or her favourite subject. Abbé Marle had contented himself with

nodding approvingly in response to certain declarations made by

Delaveau. The priest behaved with great prudence in that circle, for he

was distressed by the misconduct of Boisgelin, the scepticism of the

sub-prefect, and the open hostility of the mayor, who made a parade of

anti-clerical ideas. Ah! how the abbé's gorge rose at the thought of

that social system which he was called upon to support, and which ended

in such a _débâcle_! His only consolation was the devout sympathy of

Léonore, who sat beside him, muttering pretty phrases whilst the others

argued. She likewise transgressed, but at least she confessed her

faults, and he could already picture her at the tribunal of penitence,

accusing herself of having derived too much pleasure at that lunch from

the attentions of Sub-Prefect Châtelard, who sat on her other hand.

Like the priest, worthy Monsieur Mazelle, who remained almost forgotten

between Judge Gaume and Captain Jollivet, had only opened his mouth

to take in quantities of food, which he chewed very slowly, owing to

his fears of indigestion. Political matters no longer interested him,

since, thanks to his income, he had placed himself beyond the reach

of storms. Nevertheless he was compelled to lend ear to the theories

of the captain, who was eager to pour forth his feelings on such a

quiet listener. The army, so the captain said, was the school of the

country. France, in accordance with her immutable traditions, could

only be a warlike nation, and would only recover equilibrium when she

reconquered Europe and reigned by force of arms. It was stupid of

people to accuse military service of disorganising labour. What labour,

whose labour, indeed? Did anything of that exist? Socialism! why it

was a stupendous farce! There would always be soldiers, and down below

there must be people to do the fatigue duties. A sabre could at any

rate be seen, but who had ever seen the Idea, that famous Idea, the

pretended Queen of the Earth. The captain laughed at his own wit; and

worthy Mazelle, who felt profound respect for the army, complacently

laughed with him; whilst Lucile, his betrothed, examined him in silence

with the side-long glances of an enigmatical _amorosa_, smiling faintly

and strangely the while, as if amused to think what a husband he would

make. Meantime, at the other end of the table, young Achille Gourier

immured himself in the silence of a witness and a judge, his eyes

gleaming with all the contempt which he felt for his parents and the

friends with whom they compelled him to take lunch.

However, at the moment when a _pâté_ of ducks' liver, a perfect marvel,

was being served, another voice arose, and was heard by everybody--it

was that of Madame Mazelle, hitherto silent, busy with her plate and

her mysterious complaint which required ample nourishment. Finding

herself neglected by Boisgelin, whose attention was given entirely

to Fernande, she had ultimately fallen on Gourier, to whom she gave

particulars about her home, her perfect agreement with her husband, and

her ideas of the manner in which she meant to have her daughter Louise

educated.

'I won't let them worry her brain, ah! no, indeed! why should she

worry? She's an only child, she will inherit all our Rentes.'

All at once, without reflecting, Luc yielded to his desire to protest:

'But don't you know, madame,' said he, 'that they are going to suppress

the right of inheritance? Oh yes, very soon, directly the new social

system is organised.'

All round the table it was thought that he was jesting, and Madame

Mazelle's stupefaction was so comical to behold that everybody helped

on the joke. The right of inheritance suppressed! How infamous! What!

the money earned by the father would be taken from the children, and

they in their turn would have to earn their own bread? Why, yes, of

course, that was the logical outcome of Collectivism. Mazelle, quite

scared by it all, came to his wife's help, saying that he did not feel

anxious, for his whole fortune was invested in State Rentes, and nobody

would ever dare to touch the national ledgers.

'That's just where you make a mistake, monsieur,' Luc quietly resumed;

'the national ledgers will be burnt and Rentes will be abolished. It is

already resolved upon.'

At this the Mazelles nearly suffocated. Rentes abolished! It seemed

to them that this was as impossible as the fall of the sky upon their

heads. And they were so distracted, so terrified by the threat of

such an inversion of the laws of nature that Châtelard good-naturedly

decided to reassure them. Turning slightly towards the little table,

where, in spite of Paul's fine example, the little girls Nise and

Louise had not behaved particularly well, he said in a bantering

fashion: 'No, no, all that won't happen to-morrow; your little girl

will have time to grow up and have children of her own--only it will be

as well to clean her, for I fancy that she has been dipping her face in

the whipped cream.'

They went on jesting and laughing. Yet one and all had felt the great

breath of To-morrow passing, the breeze of the Future blowing across

the table, whence it swept away iniquitous luxury and poisonous

enjoyment. And they all rushed to the help of Rentes and capital, the

_bourgeois_ and capitalist society based upon the wage system.

'The Republic will kill itself on the day it touches property,' said

Mayor Gourier.

'There are laws, and everything would crumble to pieces on the day they

might cease to be enforced,' said Judge Gaume.

'Dash it! the army's there at all events, and the army won't allow the

rogues to triumph,' said Captain Jollivet.

'Let God act, He is all kindness and justice,' said Abbé Marle.

Boisgelin and Delaveau contented themselves with approving, for it was

to their help that all the social forces hastened. And Luc understood

the position clearly: it was the Government, the administration, the

magistracy, the army, the clergy which sustained the decaying social

system, the monstrous structure of iniquity in which the murderous toil

of the greater number fed the corrupting sloth of the few. This was

another phase of the terrible vision which he had beheld the previous

day. After gazing upon the rear he now saw the front of that rotting

social edifice which was collapsing upon every side. And even here,

amidst all that luxury and those triumphal surroundings, he had again

heard it cracking. He could detect that those people were all anxious

but strove to forget and to divert their minds whilst rushing on

towards the precipice.

The dessert was now being served, and the table was covered with pastry

and magnificent fruit. The better to bring back the good spirits of

the Mazelles, the others, as soon as the champagne was poured out,

began to sing the praises of idleness, divine idleness, which belongs

not to this world. And then Luc, as he continued reflecting, suddenly

understood what it was that weighed upon his mind: it was the problem

of how the future might be freed, in presence of those folks who

represented the unjust and tyrannical authority of the past.

After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, Boisgelin suggested

a stroll through the park as far as the farm. Throughout the repast he

had been prodigal in his attentions to Fernande, but she still gave him

the cold shoulder, refraining even from answering him, and reserving

her bright smiles for the sub-prefect seated in front of her. Matters

had been like this for a week past, and were always so when he did

not immediately satisfy one of her caprices. The real cause of their

present quarrel was that she had insisted on his giving a stag-hunt

for the sole delight of showing herself at it in a new and appropriate

costume. He had taken the liberty to refuse, as the expenses would be

very great; and, moreover, Suzanne, having been warned of the matter,

had begged him to be a little reasonable. Thus a struggle had ended by

breaking out between the two women, and it was a question which of them

would win the victory, the wife or the other.

During lunch Suzanne's sad and gentle eyes had missed nothing of

Fernande's affected coldness and her husband's anxious attentions. And

so when the latter proposed a stroll she understood that he was simply

seeking an opportunity to be alone with her sulky rival, in order to

defend himself and win her back. Greatly hurt by this, but incapable

of battling, Suzanne sought refuge in her suffering dignity, saying

that she should remain indoors in order to keep the Mazelles company.

For they, from considerations of health, never bestirred themselves on

leaving table. Judge Gaume, his daughter Lucile, and Captain Jollivet

also declared that they should not go out; and this led to Abbé Marle

proposing to play the judge a game of chess. Young Achille Gourier

had already taken leave, under pretext that he was preparing for

an examination, but in reality to indulge freely in his favourite

reveries as he strolled about the country. And so only Boisgelin, the

sub-prefect, the Delaveaus, the Gouriers, and Luc repaired to the farm,

walking slowly towards it under the lofty trees.

On the way thither things passed off very correctly; the five men

walked on together, whilst Fernande and Léonore brought up the rear,

deep apparently in some confidential chat. Among the men Boisgelin

had now begun to bewail the misfortunes of agriculture: the soil was

becoming bankrupt, said he, and all who tilled it were hastening to

ruin. Châtelard and Gourier agreed that the terrible problem for

which no solution had hitherto been found lay in the direction of

agriculture: for in order that the industrial workman might produce,

it was necessary that bread should be cheap, and if corn fetched only

a low price, the peasant, reduced to beggary, could no longer purchase

the products of industry. Delaveau, for his part, believed that a

solution might be found in an intelligent system of protection. As for

Luc, who took a passionate interest in the matter, he did his utmost to

make the others talk, and Boisgelin ended by confessing that his own

despair came largely from the continual difficulties that he had with

his farmer Feuillat, whose demands increased year by year. He would

doubtless have to part with the man when the renewal of the lease was

discussed, for the farmer had asked for a reduction of terms amounting

to no less than ten per cent. The worst was that, fearing his lease

might not be renewed, he had ceased to take proper care of the land,

which he no longer manured, since it was not for him, he said, to work

for his successor's benefit. This, of course, meant the sterilisation

of the property, whose value would thus be annihilated.

'And it's everywhere the same,' continued Boisgelin; 'people don't

agree; the workers want to take the places of the owners, and

agriculture suffers from the quarrel. At Les Combettes now, that

village yonder, whose land is only separated from mine by the Formerie

road, you can't imagine what little agreement there is among the

peasants, what efforts each of them makes to harm his neighbour,

paralysing himself the while! Ah, there was something good in feudality

after all! Those fine fellows would walk straight enough if they had

nothing of their own, and were convinced that they would never have

anything!'

This abrupt conclusion made Luc smile. Nevertheless, he was struck by

the unconscious confession that the pretended bankruptcy of the soil

came from a lack of agreement among those who tilled it. The party

was now quitting the park, and the young man's glance ranged over the

great plain of La Roumagne, formerly so famous for its fruitfulness,

but now accused of growing cold and sterile, and of no longer yielding

sustenance for its inhabitants. On the left spread the extensive lands

of Boisgelin's farm, whilst on the right Luc perceived the humble roofs

of Les Combettes, around which were grouped many small fields, cut

up into little morsels by repeated partition amongst numerous heirs,

in such wise that the whole resembled a stretch of patchwork. And

Luc asked himself what could possibly be done in order that cordial

agreement might return, in order that from so many contradictory

and barren efforts a great impulse of solidarity might spring, with

universal happiness for its object.

It so happened that as the promenaders were approaching the farmhouse,

a large and fairly well-kept building, they heard some loud swearing

and thumping of fists upon a table--in fact, all the uproar of a

violent quarrel. Then they saw two peasants, one stout and heavy,

and the other thin and nervous, come out of the house, and after

threatening one another for a last time, go off, each by a different

path, through the fields towards Les Combettes.

'What's the matter, Feuillat?' Boisgelin inquired of the farmer who had

come to his threshold.

'Oh! it's nothing, monsieur; only two more fellows of Les Combettes who

had a dispute about a boundary, and wanted me to umpire between them.

The Lenfants and the Yvonnots have been disputing together from father

to son for years and years past, and it maddens them nowadays merely to

catch sight of one another. It's of no use my talking reason to them.

You heard them just now! They'd like to devour one another. And, _mon

Dieu_, what fools they are! they'd be so happy and well off if they

would only reflect and agree together a little bit.'

Then, sorry, perhaps, that he had allowed this remark to escape him,

for it was not one which the master should have heard, Feuillat let his

eyelids fall, and with an expressionless, impenetrable face, resumed in

a husky voice: 'Would the ladies and gentlemen like to come in and rest

a moment?'

Luc, however, had previously seen the man's eyes glittering. He was

surprised to find him so wan and dry, as if his tall slim figure were

already grilled by the sunlight, although he was but forty years of

age. At the same time Feuillat was possessed of quick intelligence, as

the young man soon discovered on listening to his conversation with

Boisgelin. When the latter, in a laughing way, inquired if he had

thought over the matter of the lease, the farmer wagged his head and

answered briefly, like a careful diplomatist desirous of gaining his

point. He evidently kept back his real thoughts--the thought that the

land ought to belong to those who tilled it, to one and all of them, in

order that they might once more love and fertilise it. 'Love the soil!'

said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. His father and his grandfather

had loved it passionately, but what good had that done to them? For

his part, his love could wait until he was able to fertilise the soil

for himself and his kindred, and not for a landlord, whose one thought

would be to raise the rent as soon as the crops should increase. And

there was something else beneath the man's reticence, something that

he pictured whenever he tried to peer into the future: a reasonable

agreement among the peasantry, the reunion of all the subdivided

fields so that they might be worked in common, so that tillage might

be carried on upon a vast scale with the help of machinery. Such,

indeed, were the few ideas which had gradually come to his mind, ideas

which were best kept from the _bourgeoisie_, but which, all the same,

occasionally escaped him.

The promenaders had ended by entering the farmhouse to sit down there

and rest a moment; and Luc there again found the coldness and bareness,

the odour of toil and poverty with which he had been struck so much on

the previous evening at Bonnaire's home in the Rue des Trois Lunes.

Dry and ashen, like her man, La Feuillat stood there in an attitude of

silent resignation beside her one child, Léon, a big boy of twelve, who

already helped his father in the fields. And it was evident to Luc that

on all sides, among the peasants as among the industrial workmen, one

found labour accursed, dishonoured, regarded as a stain, a disgrace,

since it did not even provide food for the slave, who was riveted to

his toil as to a chain. In the neighbouring village of Les Combettes

the sufferings were certainly greater than at that farm; the dwellings

there were sordid dens, the life was that of domestic animals fed

upon sops; the Lenfants, with their son Arsène and their daughter

Olympe, the Yvonnots, who also had two children, Eugénie and Nicolas,

all found themselves in filthy abject wretchedness, and added to their

woes by their rageful passion to prey on one another. Luc, listening

and glancing around him, pictured all the horrors of that social hell,

telling himself the while, however, that the solution of the problem

lay in that direction, for as soon as a new social system should be

perfected one would necessarily have to come back to the earth, the

eternal nurse, the common mother who alone could provide men with daily

bread.

At last, on leaving the farm, Boisgelin said to Feuillat: 'Well you

must think it over, my good fellow. The land has gained in value, and

it's only just that I should profit by it.'

'Oh! it's all thought over now, monsieur,' the farmer answered. 'It

will suit me just as well to starve on the road as in your farm.' That

was his last word.

On the way back to La Guerdache, by another more solitary and shady

road of the park, the party of ladies and gentlemen broke up. The

sub-prefect and Léonore lingered in the rear, and soon found themselves

far behind the others, whilst Boisgelin and Fernande gradually drew

upon one side, and disappeared as if mistaking their way, straying

into lonely paths amidst their animated conversation. Meantime the

two husbands, Gourier and Delaveau, placidly continued following the

avenue, talking as they went about an article on the end of the strike

that had appeared in the 'Journal de Beauclair,' a little print with

a circulation of five hundred copies which was published by a certain

Lebleu, a petty clerical-minded bookseller, and which counted among

its contributors both Abbé Marle and Captain Jollivet. The mayor

deplored that the Deity should have been introduced into the affair,

though, like the manager of the Abyss, he approved of the general tone

of the article, which was a perfect chant of triumph celebrating the

victory of capital over the wage-earners in the most lyric style. Luc,

walking near the others, grew weary of hearing their comments on this

article; and at last, after manœuvring so as to let them distance him,

he plunged among the trees, confident that he would find La Guerdache

again as soon as was necessary.

How charming was the solitude amidst those dense thickets through which

the warm September sun sent a rain of golden sparks! For a time the

young man wandered at random, well pleased at finding himself alone,

at being able to breathe freely in the midst of nature, relieved of

the load that had oppressed him in the presence of all those folks who

weighed upon his mind and heart. Yet he was thinking of joining them

once more, when all at once near the Formerie road he came out into

some extensive meadows through which a little branch of the Mionne

coursed, feeding a large pond. And the scene which he there encountered

greatly amused him, fraught as it was with charm and hope.

Paul Boisgelin had obtained permission to take his two little guests,

Nise Delaveau and Louise Mazelle, to this spot. The maids in charge of

them were lying down under a willow and gossiping, paying no further

attention to the children. But the great feature of the adventure was

that the heir of La Guerdache and the young ladies in bibs had found

the pond in the possession of some working-class invaders, three

youngsters who had either climbed a wall or slipped through a hedge.

To his surprise Luc found that the leader and soul of the trespassing

expedition was Nanet, behind whom were Lucien and Antoinette Bonnaire.

Evidently enough it was Nanet who, profiting by the freedom of Sunday,

had led the others astray far from the Rue des Trois Lunes. And the

explanation of it all was simple enough. Lucien had fitted a little

boat with a mechanism that carried it over the water; and Nanet having

offered to take him to a fine pond he knew, one where nobody was ever

met, the little boat was now sailing unaided over the clear unrippled

pool. To the children it seemed quite a prodigy.

Lucien's stroke of genius had simply consisted in adapting the wheels

and clockwork springs of a little toy cart to a boat which he had

fashioned out of a piece of deal. This boat travelled quite thirty feet

through the water without the spring requiring to be wound afresh; but

unfortunately, in order to bring the boat back again it was necessary

to use a long pole, which on each occasion almost made the little

vessel sink.

Speechless with admiration, Paul and his young lady friends stood on

the bank of the pond, watching the wonderful boat. But Louise, with her

eyes glittering in her slender face, which suggested that of a playful

little goat, was soon carried away by a boundless desire to possess the

toy, and thrusting out her little fists she cried repeatedly: 'Want it!

Want it!'

Then, as Lucien, with the aid of his pole, brought the boat back to

shore, in order to wind up the spring afresh, she eagerly ran towards

him. Good nature and the pleasure of play brought them together.

'I made it, you know,' said the lad.

'Oh! let me see! give it me!' replied the damsel.

But that was asking him too much, and he energetically defended the

boat from the approach of her pillaging hands.

'No, no,' said he, 'it gave me too much trouble. Leave go or you'll

break it.'

However, finding her very pretty and gay, he became more cordial, and

said to her: 'I'll make you another one if you like.'

Then he put the boat in the water again, and the wheels once more

began to revolve, whilst Louise accepted his offer, clapping her hands

and sitting down on the grass by his side, in her turn won over, and

treating him as if he were an habitual playfellow.

Meantime it vaguely occurred to Paul, who was the oldest of the whole

party, quite a little man of seven, that he ought to find out who the

others were. Noticing Antoinette, he felt emboldened by her amiable

demeanour, her healthy, pretty face, so he inquired: 'How old are you?'

'I'm four years old, but papa says I look as if I was six.'

'Who's your papa?'

'Who is papa? why, papa, of course, silly!'

The little minx laughed in such a pretty way that Paul regarded her

answer as decisive, and questioned her no further, but sat down by her

side, in such wise that they at once became the best friends in the

world. She looked so pleasant with her good health and pert expression

that he doubtless failed to notice that she wore a very simple woollen

frock devoid of all pretensions to elegance.

'And your papa,' said she. 'Do all these trees belong to him? What a

lot of room you have to play in! We got in through the hole in the

hedge over there, you know.'

'It isn't allowed,' said Paul. 'And I'm not often allowed to come here,

since I might fall into the water. But it's so amusing! You mustn't say

anything, because we should get punished if you did.'

But all at once a dramatic incident occurred. Master Nanet, who was

so fair and wavy-haired, had been standing in admiration before Nise,

who was yet fairer and more wavy-haired than himself. They looked like

two toys, and they speedily ran towards one another, as if indeed it

were needful that they should pair off, and had been awaiting that

meeting. Catching hold of each other's hands they laughed face to face,

and played at pushing. Then Nanet, in a spirit of bravado, exclaimed:

'There's no need of a pole to get his boat. I'd go and fetch it in the

water, I would!'

Stirred to enthusiasm, Nise, who likewise favoured extraordinary

diversions, seconded the proposal: 'Yes, yes, we all ought to get into

the water! Let's all take our shoes off!'

Then, however, as she leant over the pond she almost fell into it. At

this, all her girlish boastfulness abandoned her, and she raised a

piercing shriek when she saw the water wetting her boots. But the lad

bravely rushed forward, caught hold of her with his little arms, which

were already strong, and carried her like a trophy to the grass, where

she again began to laugh and play with him, the pair of them rolling

about like a couple of romping kids. Unfortunately the shrill cry which

Nise had raised in her fright had roused the maids from their forgetful

gossiping under the willow. They rose, and were stupefied at the sight

of the invaders, those youngsters who had sprung they knew not whence,

and who had the impudence to romp with the children of well-to-do

_bourgeois_. The servants hurried up with such angry mien that Lucien

hastened to take possession of his boat, for fear lest it should be

confiscated, and ran off as fast as his little legs would carry him,

followed by Antoinette and even Nanet, who was likewise panic-stricken.

They rushed to the hedge, fell flat upon their stomachs, slipped out

and disappeared, whilst the servants returned to La Guerdache with

their three charges, agreeing between themselves that they would say

nothing of what had occurred, in order that nobody might be scolded.

Luc remained alone, laughing, amused by the scene that he had thus come

upon, under the paternal sun, in the midst of friendly nature. Ah!

the dear little ones, how soon they agreed together, how easily they

overcame all difficulties, ignorant as they were of all fratricidal

struggles; and what hope of a triumphant future they brought with them!

In five minutes the young man reached La Guerdache again, and there

he once more fell into the horrible present, reeking of egotism, the

hateful battle-field un which all evil passions contended. It was now

four o'clock, and the Boisgelins' guests were taking leave.

Luc was most struck, however, on perceiving Monsieur Jérôme reclining

in his bath-chair on the left of the flight of steps. The old gentleman

had just returned from his long promenade, and had signed to his

servant to leave him there a little while in the warmth of the sun, as

if indeed he desired to witness the departure of the guests invited

to the house that day. On the steps, amongst the ladies and gentlemen

all ready to depart, stood Suzanne, waiting for her husband, who had

lingered in the park with Fernande. Some minutes had elapsed after

the return of the others when she at last saw Boisgelin appear with

the young woman. They were walking quietly side by side, and chatting

together as if their long stroll were the most natural thing in the

world. Suzanne asked no explanations, but Luc plainly saw that her

hands trembled, and that an expression of dolorous bitterness passed

over her face between her smiles, for she had to play the part of a

good hostess and affect amiability. And she felt keenly wounded, and

could not help starting when Boisgelin, addressing Captain Jollivet,

declared that he should soon go to see him, in order that they might

consult together and organise that stag-hunt which hitherto he had but

vaguely thought of. Thus the die was cast, the wife was defeated, the

other had won the day, had imposed her foolish and wasteful whim upon

her lover during that long stroll which for impudence was tantamount

to a publicly given assignation. Suzanne's heart rose rebelliously at

the thought of it all. Why should she not take her son and go away

with him? Then by a visible effort she calmed herself, becoming very

dignified and lofty, bent on shielding the honour of her name and her

house with all the abnegation of a virtuous woman, relapsing into the

silence of heroic affection, that silence in which she had resolved to

live, since it would protect her from all the mire around her. Luc, who

could divine everything, now only detected her torment in the quiver of

her feverish hand when he pressed it on bidding her good-bye.

Monsieur Jérôme, meanwhile, had watched the scene with those eyes of

his, clear like spring water, in which one wondered whether there

yet lingered intelligence to understand and judge things. And he

afterwards witnessed the departure of the guests--that departure which

suggested a _défilé_ of all the elements of human power, all the

social authorities, the masters who served as examples to the masses.

Châtelard went off in his carriage with Gourier and Léonore, the

latter of whom offered a seat to Abbé Marle, in such wise that she and

the priest sat face to face with the sub-prefect and the mayor. Then

Captain Jollivet, who drove a hired tilbury, carried off Judge Gaume

and his betrothed Lucile, the former anxiously watching his daughter's

languishing turtle-dove airs. Next the Mazelles, who had arrived in a

huge landau, climbed into it again as into a soft bed, where they lay

back, completing their digestion. And Monsieur Jérôme, to whom they all

bowed in silence, according to the custom of the house, watched them

all go, like a child may watch passing shadows, without the faintest

expression of any feeling appearing on his cold face.

Only the Delaveaus remained, and the manager of the Abyss insisted on

giving Luc a lift in Boisgelin's victoria, in order to spare him the

necessity of walking. It would be easy enough to set the young man down

at his door, since they would pass La Crêcherie on their way. As there

was only a folding bracket seat Fernande would take Nise on her lap,

and the maid would sit beside the coachman.

'Come, Monsieur Froment, it will be a real pleasure for me to drive you

home,' Delaveau insisted in his most obliging way.

Luc ended by accepting the offer. Then Boisgelin clumsily referred to

the hunt again, inquiring if the young man would still be at Beauclair

in order to attend it. Luc answered that he could not tell how long he

might be in the district, but at all events they must not rely on him.

Suzanne listened with a smile. Then, her eyes moistening at the thought

of his brotherly sympathy, she again pressed his hand, saying: '_Au

revoir_, my friend.'

When the victoria eventually started, Luc's eyes for the last time met

those of Monsieur Jérôme, which, it seemed to him, were travelling from

Fernande to Suzanne, slowly taking note of the supreme destruction with

which his race was threatened. But was not that an illusion on Luc's

part, was there not in the depths of those eyes merely the emotion, the

vague smile which always gleamed therein whenever the old man looked at

his dear granddaughter, the only one whom he still loved, and whom he

was still willing to recognise?

Whilst the victoria was rolling towards Beauclair Luc promptly learnt

why Delaveau had been so anxious to drive him home, for the manager

again began to question him about his sudden journey--what its purpose

might be, and what Jordan would do with reference to the management

of his blast-furnace now that the old engineer Laroche was dead.

One of Delaveau's secret projects had been to buy the blast-furnace

as well as the extensive tract of land which separated it from the

steel-works, in such wise as to double the value of the Abyss. But the

whole constituted a big mouthful, and as he did not expect to have

the necessary money for such a purchase for a long time to come, he

had only thought of slow, progressive extension. On the other hand,

the sudden death of Laroche had now quickened his desires, and he

had fancied that he might perhaps be able to come to arrangements

with Jordan, whom he knew to be immersed in his favourite scientific

studies, and desirous of ridding himself of a business which brought

him a deal of worry. This was why the sudden arrival of Luc in response

to a summons from Jordan had greatly disturbed Delaveau, who feared

that the young man might upset the plans of which he had hitherto only

spoken indirectly. At the first questions which the manager put to him

in a good-natured way, Luc, although unable to understand everything,

became suspicious, and he therefore replied evasively:

'I know nothing, I have not seen Jordan for more than six months,'

said he. 'As for his blast-furnace, why, I suppose that he will simply

confide the management to some clever young engineer.'

Whilst he spoke, he noticed that Fernande's eyes never left him. Nise

had fallen asleep on the young woman's lap, and she kept silence,

seemingly greatly interested in the conversation of the others, as if

she could divine that her future was at stake, for she had already

detected that this young man was an enemy. Had he not sided with

Suzanne in the matter of the hunt; had not she, Fernande, seen them in

cordial agreement, with their hands clasped like brother and sister?

Then, feeling that war was virtually declared between them, she smiled

a keen, cruel smile, like one determined on victory.

'Oh! I merely mention the matter,' repeated Delaveau, beating a

retreat, 'because I was told that Jordan thought of confining himself

to his studies and discoveries. Some of the latter are admirable!'

'Yes, admirable!' repeated Luc, with the conviction of an enthusiast.

At last the carriage stopped before La Crêcherie, and the young man

alighted, thanked Delaveau, and found himself alone. He again felt

the great quiver that had come upon him during those two days which

beneficent destiny had granted him since his arrival at Beauclair. He

had there seen both sides of the hateful world whose framework was

falling to pieces from sheer rottenness: the iniquitous misery of

some, the pestilential wealth of others. Work, badly remunerated, held

in contempt, unjustly apportioned, had become mere torture and shame

when it should have been the very nobility, health, and happiness of

mankind. Luc's heart was bursting at the thought of it all, and his

brain seemed to open as if to give birth to the ideas which he had felt

within him for months past. And a cry for justice sprang from his whole

being. Ay, there was no other possible mission nowadays than that of

hastening to the succour of the wretched, and setting a little justice

once more upon the earth.

[1] £32,000.

[2] The Lycée Condorcet (formerly Bonaparte) has always been both the

most elegant and the most literary of all the Paris State colleges. Th.

de Banville, Dumas fils, the brothers de Goncourt, the younger Guizots,

Eugène Sue, Taine, Alphonse Karr, Prévost-Paradol, &c., were educated

there; and among those who sat on the forms in my time there--during

the Second Empire--were many who have since become distinguished French

journalists, authors, and statesmen.--_Trans._

IV

The Jordans were to return to Beauclair on the Monday by a train

arriving in the evening. And Luc spent the morning of that day in

strolling through the park of La Crêcherie, which was not more

than fifty acres in extent, though its exceptional situation, its

watercourses and superb greenery, made it quite a paradise, famous

throughout the whole region.

The house, a by no means large building of brick, of no particular

style, had been erected by Jordan's grandfather in the time of Louis

XVIII. on the site of an old château destroyed during the Revolution.

Close behind it rose the range of the Bleuse Mountains, that steep

gigantic wall which jutted out like a promontory at the point where the

Brias gorge opened into the great plain of La Roumagne. Protected in

this wise from the north winds, and looking towards the south, the park

was like a natural hot-house where eternal springtide reigned.

Thanks to a number of springs gushing forth in crystalline cascades

the rocky wall was covered with vigorous vegetation, and goat-paths,

flights of steps cut in the stone, ascended to the summit amidst

climbing plants and evergreen shrubs. Down below, the springs united,

and flowing on in a slow river, watered the whole park, the great

lawns, and the clumps of lofty trees, which were of the finest and

most vigorous kinds. Jordan had virtually left that luxuriant corner

of nature to look after itself, for he only employed one gardener and

two lads, who, apart from attending to the kitchen garden and a few

flower-beds below the house-terrace, simply had to keep things somewhat

tidy.

Jordan's grandfather, Aurélien Jordan de Beauvisage, was born in 1790

on the eve of the Reign of Terror. The Beauvisages, one of the most

ancient and illustrious families of the district, had then already

fallen from their high estate, and of their formerly vast territorial

possessions they only retained two farms--now annexed to Les

Combettes--and between two and three thousand acres of bare rock and

barren moor, a broad strip indeed of the lofty plateau of the Bleuse

Mountains. Aurélien was less than three years old when his parents were

compelled to emigrate, abandoning their flaming château one terrible

winter's night. And until 1816 Aurélien had his home in Austria, where

his mother and then his father died in swift succession, leaving him in

a fearful state of penury, reared in the hard school of manual toil,

with no other bread to eat than that which he earned as a worker in

an iron mine. He had just completed his twenty-sixth year when, under

Louis XVIII., he returned to Beauclair and found the ancestral property

still further diminished, for the two farms were lost, and there now

only remained the little park and the two or three thousand acres of

stones which nobody cared for. Misfortune had democratised Aurélien,

who felt that he could no longer be a Beauvisage. Henceforth then he

simply signed himself Jordan, and he married the daughter of a very

rich farmer of Saint-Cron, his wife's dowry enabling him to build on

the site of the old château the _bourgeoise_ brick residence in which

his grandson now dwelt. But he had become a worker, his hands were

still grimy, and he remembered the iron mine and blast-furnace where

he had toiled in Austria. Already in 1818 he began to look around him,

and, at last, among the desolate rocks of his domain, he discovered

a similar mine, the existence of which he had been led to suspect by

certain old stories told him by his parents. And then, half-way up the

ridge on a kind of natural landing or platform, above La Crêcherie, he

installed his own blast-furnace, the first established in the region.

From that moment he became absorbed in industrial toil, though without

ever realising any very large profits, for he lacked capital, and

his life proved one continual battle from that cause. His only title

to the gratitude of the district was that by the presence of his

blast-furnace he brought thither the iron-workers who had created all

the great establishments of the present time, among others being Blaise

Qurignon, the drawer by whom the Abyss had been founded in 1823.

Aurélien Jordan had but one son, Séverin, born to him when he was more

than five-and-thirty, and it was only when this son replaced him after

his death in 1852 that the blast-furnace of La Crêcherie became really

important. Séverin had married a Demoiselle Françoise Michon, daughter

of a doctor of Magnolles, and his wife proved a woman of exquisite

kindliness and very superior intelligence. In her were personified

the activity, wisdom, and wealth of the household. Guided, loved, and

sustained by her, her husband excavated fresh galleries in his mine,

increased the output of ore tenfold, and almost rebuilt the furnace in

order to endow it with the most perfect plant then known. And thus,

amidst the great fortune which they acquired, the only grief of the

Jordans was to remain for many years childless. They had been married

ten years, and Séverin was already forty, when a son, Martial, was at

last born to them; and ten years later they finally had a daughter,

Sœurette. This belated fruitfulness crowned their lives; Françoise,

who had been so good a wife, proved also a most admirable mother,

one who battled victoriously against death on behalf of her son, a

weakling, and endowed him with her own intelligence and kindliness.

Doctor Michon, her father, a humanitarian dreamer, full of divine

charitableness, a Fourierist and Saint-Simonian of the first days,

withdrew in his old age to La Crêcherie, where his daughter built him

a pavilion, the one indeed which Luc had lately occupied. There it was

that the doctor died among his books, amidst all the gaiety of sunshine

and flowers. And until the death of Françoise, the fondly loved mother,

which occurred five years after that of the grandfather and father, La

Crêcherie lived on amidst all the joy of never-failing prosperity and

felicity.

Martial Jordan was thirty years of age, and Sœurette was twenty, when

they first found themselves alone; and five years had now elapsed

since that time. He, in spite of his indifferent health, the frequent

illnesses of which his mother had cured him by force of love, had

passed through the Polytechnic School. But on his return to La

Crêcherie, finding himself master of his destiny, thanks to the large

fortune he inherited, he had relinquished all thoughts of official

appointments, and had taken passionately to the investigations which

the application of electricity offered to studious scientists. On one

side of the house he built a very spacious laboratory, installed the

necessary machinery for powerful motive force in an adjacent shed, and

then gradually took to special studies, surrendering himself almost

completely to the dream of smelting ore in electrical furnaces in a

practical way adapted to the requirements of industry. And from that

time he virtually cloistered himself, lived like a monk, absorbed in

his experiments, his great work, which became as it were his very

life. Beside him, his sister had now taken his dead mother's place;

and indeed, before long Sœurette was like his faithful guardian,

his good angel, one who took every care of him, and set round him

all the warm affection that he needed. Moreover she managed the

household, spared him many material worries, served him as a secretary

and assistant-preparator, rendered all sorts of help ever gently

and quietly with a placid smile upon her face. The blast-furnace

luckily gave no trouble, for the old engineer Laroche, a bequest of

Aurélien Jordan, the founder, had been there more than thirty years,

in such wise that the present owner, deeply immersed in his studies

and experiments, was able to detach himself entirely from business

matters. He left the worthy Laroche free to manage the blast-furnace

in accordance with the routine of years; for he himself had ceased to

bother about possible ameliorations, since he cared nothing for mere

relative, transitory improvements now that he had begun to seek the

radical change, the art of smelting by electrical means, which would

revolutionise the whole world of metallurgical industry. Indeed, it was

often Sœurette who had to intervene and come to a decision on certain

matters with Laroche, particularly when she knew that her brother's

mind was busy with some important investigation, and she did not wish

him to be disturbed by any outside matters. Now, however, Laroche's

sudden death had so thoroughly upset the usual well-regulated order

of things, that Jordan, who deemed himself sufficiently rich, and had

no ambition apart from his studies, would willingly have rid himself

of the blast-furnace by at once opening negotiations with Delaveau,

whose desires were known to him, had not Sœurette more prudently

obtained from him a promise that he would in the first place consult

Luc, in whom she placed great confidence. Thence had come the pressing

call addressed to the young man which had brought him so suddenly to

Beauclair.

Luc had first met the Jordans, brother and sister, at the Boisgelins'

residence in Paris, in which city they had established themselves

one winter in order to prosecute certain studies successfully. Great

sympathy had arisen between them, based, on Luc's side, upon his

great admiration for the brother, whose scientific talent transported

him, and upon deep affection mingled with respect for the sister,

who seemed to him like some divine personification of goodness. He

himself was then working with the celebrated chemist Bourdin, studying

some iron ores overcharged with sulphur and phosphates which it was

desired to turn to commercial use. And Sœurette recalled certain

particulars that he had given her brother on this subject one evening

which she well remembered. Now, for more than ten years the mine

discovered by Aurélien Jordan on the plateau of the Bleuse Mountains

had been abandoned, as in the veins reached by the workers sulphur and

phosphorus prevailed to such a point that the ore no longer yielded

enough metal to pay the cost of extraction. Thus the working of the

galleries had ceased, and the smeltery of La Crêcherie was now fed

by the Granval mines near Brias; a little railway line bringing the

ore, which was of fairly good quality, as well as the coal of the

neighbouring pits, to the charging platform of the furnace. But all

this was very costly, and Sœurette often thought of those chemical

methods, the employment of which, according to what Luc had said, might

perhaps enable them to work their own mine afresh. And in her desire to

consult the young man before her brother came to a positive decision,

she felt too that she ought to know the real value of what would be

ceded to Delaveau should a deed of sale indeed be arranged between La

Crêcherie and the Abyss.

The Jordans were to arrive at six o'clock, after twelve hours'

travelling, and Luc went to wait for them at the railway station,

driving thither in the carriage which was to bring them home. Jordan,

short and puny, had a somewhat vague, long, and gentle face, with hair

and beard of a faded brown. He alighted from the train wrapped in a

long fur overcoat, although that fine September day was a warm one.

With his keen, penetrating black eyes, in which all his vitality seemed

to have taken refuge, he was the first to perceive his friend Luc.

'Ah, my dear fellow!' said he, 'how kind of you to have waited for us!

You can't have an idea of the catastrophe that took us away, that poor

cousin of ours, dying like that, all alone, yonder, and we having to go

and bury him, when there's nothing we hate so much as travelling....

Well, it's all over now, and here we are.'

'And the health's good and you are not over-tired?' asked Luc.

'No, not too much. I was fortunately able to sleep.'

But Sœurette was in her turn coming up, after making sure that none

of the travelling-rugs had been left inside the carriage. She was not

pretty: like her brother she had a very slight figure, and was pale,

complexionless, indeed insignificant after the fashion of a woman who

is resigned to being a good housewife and nurse. And yet her tender

smiles lent infinite charm to her face, whose only beauty dwelt in

its passionate eyes, in the depths of which glowed all the craving

for love which lurked within her, but of which she herself was as yet

ignorant. Hitherto she had loved none excepting her brother, and him

she loved after the fashion of some cloistered maid, who for the sake

of her Deity renounces the whole world. Before even speaking to Luc she

called: 'Be careful, Martial--you ought to put on your scarf.'

Then, turning towards the young man, she showed herself charming, at

once giving proof of the keen sympathy she felt for him: 'How many

apologies we owe you, Monsieur Froment! What can you have thought of us

when you found us gone on your arrival! Have you been comfortable at

all events, have you been properly cared for?'

'Admirably--I've lived like a prince.'

'Oh! you are jesting. Before I started I took good care to give all

necessary orders so that you might lack nothing. But all the same I was

absent and unable to watch; and you cannot imagine how vexed I felt at

the idea of abandoning you like that in our poor empty house.'

They had got into the carriage, and the conversation continued as they

drove away. Luc fully reassured them at last by telling them that he

had spent two very interesting days, of which he would give them full

particulars later on. When they reached La Crêcherie, although the

night was falling, Jordan looked eagerly around him, so delighted at

returning to his wonted life that he gave vent to cries of joy. It

seemed to him as if he were coming back after an absence of several

weeks. How could one find any pleasure in roaming, said he, when

all human happiness lay in the little nook where one thought, where

one worked, freed by habit of the cares of life? Whilst waiting for

Sœurette to have the dinner served, Jordan washed himself in some warm

water, and then insisted on taking Luc into his laboratory, for he

himself was eager to return thither, saying with a light laugh that he

should have no appetite for dinner if he did not first of all breathe

the air of the room in which his life was spent.

The laboratory was a very large and lofty place, built of brick and

iron, with broad bay-windows facing the greenery of the park. An

immense table laden with apparatus was set in the centre, and all round

the walls were appliances, machine tools, with models, rough drafts

of plans, and electrical furnaces on a reduced scale in the corners.

A system of cables and wires hanging overhead from end to end of the

room brought the electrical motive force from the neighbouring shed and

distributed it among the appliances, tools, and furnaces, in order that

the necessary experiments might be made. And beside all this scientific

severity was a warm and cosy retreat in front of one of the windows, a

retreat with low bookcases and deep armchairs, the couch on which the

brother dozed at appointed hours, and the little table at which the

sister sat while watching over him or assisting him like a faithful

secretary.

Jordan touched a switch, and the whole room became radiant with a rush

of electric light.

'So here I am!' said he. 'Really now, I only feel all right when I'm

at home. By the way, that misfortune which compelled me to absent

myself happened just as I was becoming passionately interested in a new

experiment--I shall have to begin it again. But, _mon Dieu_! how well I

feel!'

He continued laughing; colour had come to his cheeks, and he showed far

more animation than usual. Leaning back on the couch in the attitude he

usually assumed when yielding to thought, he compelled Luc also to sit

down.

'I say, my good friend,' he continued, 'we have plenty of time--have we

not?--to talk of the matters which made me so desirous to see you that

I ventured to summon you here. Besides, it is necessary that Sœurette

should be present, for she is an excellent counsellor. So if you are

agreeable we will wait till after dinner, we will have our chat at

dessert. And meantime, how happy I feel at having you there in front

of me to tell you how I am getting on with my studies! They don't

progress very fast, but I work at them, and that's the great thing, you

know. It's enough if one works two hours a day.'

Then, this usually taciturn man went on chatting, recounting his

experiments, which as a rule he confided to nobody, excepting the trees

of his park, as he sometimes jestingly exclaimed. An electrical furnace

being already devised, he had at first simply sought how it might be

practically employed for the smelting of iron ore. In Switzerland,

where the motive power derived from the torrents enabled one to perform

certain work inexpensively, he had inspected furnaces which melted

aluminium under excellent conditions. Why should it not be possible to

treat iron in the same way? To solve the problem it was only necessary

to apply the same principles to a given case. The blast-furnaces in

use gave scarcely more than 1,600 degrees of heat,[1] whereas 2,000

were obtained with the electrical furnaces, a temperature which would

produce immediate fusion of perfect regularity. And Jordan had without

any difficulty planned such a furnace as he thought advisable, a simple

cube of brickwork, some six feet long on each side, the bottom and

crucible being of magnesia, the most refractory substance known. He had

also calculated and determined the volume of the electrodes, two large

cylinders of carbon, and his first real find consisted in discovering

that he might borrow from them the carbon necessary to disoxygenate

the ore, in such wise that the operation of smelting would be greatly

simplified, for there would be but little slag. If the furnace were

built, however, or at least roughed out, how was one to set it working

and keep it working in a practical, constant manner, in accordance with

industrial requirements?

'There!' said he, pointing to a model in a corner of the laboratory.

'There is my electrical furnace. Doubtless it needs to be perfected;

it is defective in various respects, there are little difficulties

which are not yet solved. Nevertheless, such as it is, it has given

me some pigs of excellent cast iron, and I estimate that a battery

of ten similar furnaces working for ten hours would do the work of

three establishments like mine kept alight both by day and night.

And what easy work it would be, without any cause for anxiety, work

which children might direct by simply turning on switches. But I must

confess that my pigs cost me as much money as if they were silver

ingots. And so the problem is plain enough: my furnace, so far, is

only a laboratory toy, and will only exist with respect to industrial

enterprise when I am able to feed it with an abundance of electricity

at a sufficiently low cost to render the smelting of iron ore

remunerative.'

Then he explained that for the last six months he had left his furnace

on one side to devote himself entirely to studying the transport of

electrical force. Might not economy already be realised by burning coal

at the mouth of the pit it came from, and by transmitting electrical

force by cables to the distant factories requiring it? That again was

a problem which many scientists had been endeavouring to solve for

several years, and unfortunately they all found themselves confronted

by a considerable loss of force during transit.

'Some more experiments have just been made,' said Luc with an

incredulous air. 'I really think that there is no means of preventing

loss.'

Jordan smiled with that gentle obstinacy, that invincible faith which

he brought into his investigations during the months and months which

he at times expended over them before arriving at the slightest grain

of truth.

'One must think nothing before one is quite certain,' said he. 'I

have already secured some good results; and some day electrical force

will be stored up, canalised, and directed hither and thither without

any loss at all. If twenty years' searching is necessary, well I'll

give twenty years. It's all very simple: one sets to work anew every

morning, one begins afresh until one finds--whatever should I myself do

if I did not begin again and again?'

He said this with such naïve grandeur that Luc felt moved as by a deed

of heroism. And he looked at Jordan, so slight, so puny of build, ever

in poor health, coughing, pain-racked under his scarves and shawls,

in that vast laboratory littered with gigantic appliances, traversed

by wires charged with lightning, and filled more and more each day by

colossal labour--the labour of a little insignificant being who went

to and fro, striving, battling to desperation, like an insect lost

amidst the dust of the ground. Where was it that he found not only

intellectual energy but also sufficient physical vigour to undertake

and carry through so many mighty tasks, for the accomplishment of which

the lives of several strong, healthy men seemed to be necessary? He

could hardly trot about, he could scarcely breathe, and yet he raised a

very world with his little hands, weak though they were, like those of

a sickly child.

However, Sœurette now made her appearance, and gaily exclaimed: 'What!

aren't you coming to dinner? I shall lock up the laboratory, my dear

Martial, if you won't be reasonable.'

The dining-room, like the _salon_--two rather small apartments as warm

and as cosy as nests, in which one detected the watchful care of a

woman's heart--overlooked a vast stretch of greenery, a panorama of

meadows and ploughed fields spreading to the dim distant horizon of La

Roumagne. But at that hour of night, although the weather was so mild,

the curtains were drawn. Luc now again noticed what minute attentions

the sister lavished on the brother. He, Martial, followed quite an

intricate regimen, having his special dishes, his special bread, and

even his special water, which was slightly warmed in order to 'take

the chill off it.' He ate like a bird, rose and went to bed early,

like the chickens, who are sensible creatures; then during the day

came short walks and rests between the hours that he gave to work. To

those who expressed astonishment at the prodigious amount of work that

he accomplished, and who thought him a terrible labourer, toiling from

morning till night and showing himself no mercy, he replied that he

worked scarcely three hours a day, two in the morning and one in the

afternoon. And even in the morning a spell of recreation came between

the two hours that he gave to work; for he could not fix his attention

upon a subject for more than one hour at a stretch without experiencing

vertigo, without feeling as if his brain were emptying. Never had he

been able to toil for a longer time, and his value rested solely in his

will-power, his tenacity, the passion that he imported into the work

which he undertook, and with which he persevered, on and on, in all

intellectual bravery, even if years went by before he brought it to a

head.

Luc now at last discovered an answer to that question which he had so

often asked himself; wherever did Jordan, who was so slight and weak,

find the strength requisite for his mighty tasks? He found it solely

in method, in the careful, well-reasoned employment of all his means,

however slight they might be. He even made use of his weakness, using

it as a weapon which prevented him from being disturbed by outsiders.

But above all else, he was ever intent on one and the same thing, the

work he had in hand. To that work he gave every minute at his disposal,

without ever yielding to discouragement or lassitude, but sustained by

the unfailing desperate faith which raises mountains. Is it known what

a mass of work one may pile up when one works only two hours a day on

some useful and decisive task, which is never interrupted by idleness

or fancy? Such work is like the grain of wheat which, accumulating,

fills the sack, or like the ever-falling drop of water which causes

the river to overflow. Stone by stone, the edifice rises, the monument

grows, until it o'ertops the mountains. And it was thus, by a prodigy

of method and personal adaptation, that this sickly little man, wrapped

in rugs and drinking his water warm for fear lest he should catch cold,

accomplished work of the mightiest kind, and this although he gave

to it only the few hours of intellectual health that he succeeded in

wresting from his physical weakness.

The dinner proved a very friendly and cheerful repast. The household

service was entirely in the hands of women, for Sœurette found men too

noisy and rough for her brother. The coachman and groom simply procured

assistants on certain occasions when some very heavy work had to be

done. And the servant-girls, all carefully selected, pleasant-looking,

gentle and skilful, contributed to the happy quiescence of that cosy

dwelling, where only a few intimates were received. That evening, for

the return of the master and mistress, the dinner consisted of some

clear soup, a barbel from the Mionne with melted butter, a roast fowl

and some salad--all very simple dishes.

'So you have really not felt over-bored since Saturday?' Sœurette

inquired of Luc when they were all three seated at the table.

'No, I assure you,' the young man answered, 'And besides, you have no

notion how fully my time has been occupied.'

Then he first of all recounted his Saturday evening, the covert state

of rebellion in which he had found Beauclair, the theft of a loaf by

Nanet, the arrest of Lange, and his visit to Bonnaire, the victim of

the strike. But by a strange scruple, at which he afterwards felt

astonished, he virtually skipped his meeting with Josine, and did not

mention her by name.

'Poor folks!' exclaimed Sœurette compassionately. 'That frightful

strike reduced them to bread and water, and even those who had bread

were lucky. What can one do? How can one help them? Alms give but the

slightest relief, and you don't know how distressed I have been during

the last two months, at feeling that we, the rich and happy, are so

utterly powerless.'

She was a humanitarian, a pupil of her grandfather Dr. Michon, the old

Fourierist and Saint-Simonian, who when she was quite little had taken

her on his knees to tell her some fine stories of his own invention,

stories of phalansteries established on blissful islands, of cities

where men had found the fulfilment of all their dreams of happiness

amidst eternal springtide.

'What can be done? What can be done?' she repeated dolorously, with her

beautiful, soft, compassionate eyes fixed upon Luc. 'Something ought to

be done, surely.'

Then Luc, emotion gaining on him, raised a heartfelt cry. 'Ah! yes,

it's high time, one must act.'

But Jordan wagged his head; he, immersed in the cloistered life of

a scientist, never occupied himself with politics. He held them in

contempt, and unjustly--for after all it is necessary that men should

watch over the manner in which they are governed. He, however, living

amidst the absolute, regarded passing events, the accidents of the day,

as mere jolts on the road, and consequently of no account. According to

him it was science alone which led mankind to truth, justice, and final

happiness, that perfect city of the future towards which the nations

plod on so slowly, and with so much anguish. Of what use, therefore,

was it to worry about all the rest? Was it not sufficient that science

should advance? For it advanced in spite of everything--each of its

conquests was definitive. And whatever might be the catastrophes of the

journey, at the end there rose the victory of life, the accomplishment

of the destiny of mankind. Thus, though he was very gentle and

tender-hearted like his sister, he closed his ears to the contemporary

battle, and shut himself up in his laboratory, where, as he expressed

it, he manufactured happiness for to-morrow.

'Act?' he declared in his turn. 'Thought is an act, and the most

fruitful of all acts in influence upon the world. Do we even know what

seeds are germinating now? The sufferings of all those poor wretches

are very distressing, but I do not allow myself to be disturbed by

them, for the harvest will come in its due season.'

Luc, feverish and disturbed as he himself felt, did not insist on

the point, but went on to relate how he had spent his Sunday, his

invitation to La Guerdache, the lunch there, the people he had met at

table, and what had been done and what had been said. But whilst he

spoke he could see that the brother and sister were becoming cold, as

if they took no interest in all those folks.

'We seldom see the Boisgelins now that they are living at Beauclair,'

Jordan exclaimed, with his quiet frankness. 'They showed themselves

very amiable in Paris, but here we lead such a retired life that all

intercourse has gradually ceased. Besides, it must be acknowledged

that our ideas and our habits are very different from theirs. As for

Delaveau, he is an intelligent and active fellow, absorbed in his

business as I am in mine. And I must add that the fine society of

Beauclair terrifies me to such a point that I keep my door closed to

it, delighted at its indignation and at remaining alone like some

dangerous madman.'

Sœurette began to laugh. 'Martial exaggerates a little,' said she. 'I

receive Abbé Marle, who is a worthy man, as well as Doctor Novarre

and Hermeline the schoolmaster, whose conversation interests me. And

if it is true that we remain simply on a footing of courtesy with

La Guerdache, I none the less retain sincere friendship for Madame

Boisgelin, who is so good, so charming.'

Jordan, who liked to tease his sister at times, thereupon exclaimed:

'Why don't you say at once that it is I who compel you to flee the

world, and that if I were not here you would throw the doors wide open!'

'Why, of course!' she answered gaily, 'the house is such as you desire

it to be. But if you wish it I am quite willing to give a great ball,

and invite Sub-Prefect Châtelard, Mayor Gourier, Judge Gaume, Captain

Jollivet, and the Mazelles and the Boisgelins and the Delaveaus. You

shall open the ball with Madame Mazelle!'

They went on jesting, for they felt very happy that evening, both on

account of their return to their nest and of Luc's presence beside

them. At last, when the dessert was served, they proceeded to deal with

the great question. The two silent servant-girls had gone off in their

light felt slippers, which rendered their footsteps inaudible; and the

quiet dining-room seemed full of the charm of affectionate intimacy,

when hearts and minds can be opened in all freedom.

'So this, my friend,' said Jordan, 'is what I ask of your friendship. I

wish you to study the question, and tell me what you yourself would do

if you were in my place.'

He recapitulated the whole business, and explained how he himself

regarded it. He would long since have rid himself of the blast-furnace

if it had not, so to say, continued working of its own accord in the

jog-trot manner regulated by routine. The profits remained sufficient,

but holding himself to be rich enough he did not take them into

account. And on the other hand, had he been minded to increase them,

double or treble them as ambition might dictate, it would have been

necessary to renew a part of the plant, improve the systems employed,

and in a word devote oneself to them entirely. That was a thing

which he could not and would not do, the more particularly as those

ancient blast-furnaces, whose methods to him seemed so childish and

barbarous, possessed no interest for him, and could be of no help in

the experiments of electrical smelting in which he was now passionately

absorbed. So he let the furnace go, occupied himself with it as little

as possible, whilst awaiting an opportunity to get rid of it altogether.

'You understand, my friend, don't you?' he said to Luc. 'And now, you

see, all at once old Laroche dies, and the whole management and all its

worries fall on my shoulders again. You can't imagine what a lot of

things ought to be done--a man's lifetime would scarcely suffice if one

wished to deal with the matter seriously. For my part nothing in the

world would induce me to relinquish my studies, my investigations. The

best course, therefore, is to sell, and I am virtually ready to do so;

still, first of all, I should much like to have your opinion.'

Luc understood Jordan's views, and thought them reasonable.

'No doubt,' he answered, 'you cannot change your work and habits, your

whole life. You yourself and the world would both lose too much by it.

But at the same time I think you might give the matter a little more

thought, for perhaps there are other solutions possible. Besides, in

order to sell you must find a purchaser.'

'Oh! I have a purchaser,' Jordan resumed. 'Delaveau has long desired

to annex the blast-furnace of La Crêcherie to the steel-works of the

Abyss. He has sounded me already, and I have only to make a sign.'

Luc had started on hearing Delaveau's name, for he now at last

understood why the latter had shown himself so anxious and so pressing

in his inquiries. And as his host, who had noticed his gesture,

inquired if he had anything to say against the manager of the Abyss, he

responded, 'No, no, I think as you yourself do, that he is an active

and intelligent man.'

'That is the very point,' continued Jordan; 'the business would be in

the hands of an expert. It would be necessary, I think, to come to

certain arrangements, such as agreeing to payments at long intervals,

for Boisgelin has no capital at liberty. But that doesn't matter. I can

wait, a guarantee on the Abyss would suffice me.' Then looking Luc full

in the face, he concluded: 'Come, do you advise me to finish with the

matter, and treat with Delaveau?'

The young man did not immediately reply. A feeling of uneasiness

and repugnance was rising within him. What could it be? Why should

he experience such indignation, such anger with himself, as if,

by advising his friend to hand the blast-furnace over to that man

Delaveau, he would be committing some bad action which would for ever

leave him full of remorse? He could find no good reason for advising

any other course. Thus he at last replied: 'All that you have said to

me is certainly very reasonable, and I cannot do otherwise than approve

of your views. And yet you might do well in giving the matter a little

more thought.'

Sœurette had hitherto listened very attentively, without intervening.

She seemed to share Luc's covert uneasiness, and now and again glanced

at him anxiously, whilst waiting for his decision.

'The smeltery is not alone in question,' she at last exclaimed; 'there

is also the mine, all that rocky land which cannot be separated from

the furnace, so it seems to me.'

But her brother, eager to get rid of the whole affair, made an

impatient gesture, saying: 'Delaveau shall take the land as well, if he

desires it. What can we do with it? A mass of peeling calcined rock,

amongst which the very nettles refuse to grow! It has no value whatever

nowadays, since the mine can no longer be worked.'

'Is it quite certain that it can no longer be worked?' insisted

Sœurette. 'I remember, Monsieur Froment, that you told us one evening

in Paris that the ironmasters in Eastern France had managed to make

use of most defective ore by subjecting it to some chemical treatment.

Why has that process never been tried here?'

Jordan raised his arms towards the ceiling in a fit of despair.

'Why? why, my dear?' he cried. 'Because Laroche was deficient in all

initiative; because I myself have never had time to attend to the

matter; because things worked in a certain way and could not be got to

work otherwise. If I'm selling the property it's precisely because I

don't want to hear it mentioned again, for it is radically impossible

for me to direct the business, and the mere thought of it makes me ill.'

He had risen, and his sister seeing him so agitated, remained silent

for fear lest in provoking a dispute she might throw him into a fever.

'There are moments,' he continued, 'when I think of sending for

Delaveau so that he may take everything whether he pays or not. I am

not hard up for money. It's like those electrical furnaces which so

greatly impassion me; I have never once thought of employing them

myself and of coining money with them, for as soon as I solve all the

difficulties in my way, I shall give my invention to everybody, so as

to help on universal prosperity and happiness.... Well then, it is

understood. As our friend considers my plan to be a reasonable one, we

will study the conditions of sale together to-morrow, and then I'll

finish everything.'

Luc made no response; a feeling of repugnance still possessed him, and

he did not wish to pledge himself too far. But Jordan became yet more

excited, and ended by suggesting that they should go up to see the

furnace, the more especially as he wished to ascertain how things had

gone there during his three days' absence.

'I am not without anxiety,' said he. 'Although Laroche has been dead a

week I have not replaced him--I have let my master-smelter, Morfain,

direct the work. He is a capital fellow! He was born up yonder, and

grew up amidst the fires! Nevertheless the responsibility is heavy for

a mere workman such as he is.'

Sœurette, alarmed by her brother's suggestion, intervened entreatingly.

'Oh, Martial!' she cried, 'you have only just come back from a long

journey, and yet, tired as you must be, you want to go out again at ten

o'clock at night.'

Jordan thereupon became very gentle again, and kissed her. 'Don't

worry, little one,' said he; 'you know that I never attempt more than

I feel I can do. I assure you that I shall sleep the better after

making certain that things are all right. It is not a cold night, and,

besides, I will put on my fur coat.'

Sœurette herself fastened a thick scarf about his neck, and accompanied

him and Luc down the steps in order to make sure that the night was

really mild. It was indeed a delightful one, the trees, the rivulets,

and the fields all slumbered beneath the heavens, which spread out like

a canopy of dark velvet spangled with stars.

'I am confiding him to your care, Monsieur Froment,' said Sœurette,

referring to her brother. 'Do not let him remain out late.'

The two men at once began to climb a narrow stairway which was cut

out in the rocks behind the house, and ascended to the stony landing

whereon the furnace stood, half-way up the huge ridge of the Bleuse

Mountains. It was a labyrinthine stairway of infinite charm, winding

between pines and climbing plants. At each bend, on raising one's head,

one perceived the black pile of the smeltery standing forth more and

more plainly against the blue night-sky, the strange silhouettes of

various mechanical adjuncts showing forth fantastically around the

central pile.

Jordan went up the first with light short steps, and as he was at last

reaching the landing he paused before a pile of rocks among which a

little light gleamed like a star.

'Wait a minute,' he said, 'I want to make sure whether Morfain is at

home or not.'

'Where, at home?' asked Luc in astonishment.

'Why here, in these old grottoes, which he has turned into a kind of

dwelling-place, to which he clings most obstinately with his son and

daughter, in spite of all the offers that I have made of providing him

with a little house.'

All along the gorge of Brias quite a number of poor people dwelt in

similar cavities. Morfain for his part remained there from taste,

for there forty years previously he had first seen the light; and,

moreover, he was thus close beside his work, that furnace which was at

once his life, his prison, and his empire. Moreover, if he had chosen a

prehistoric dwelling, he had behaved like a civilised man of the caves,

closing both sides of his grotto with a substantial wall and providing

a stout door and some windows fitted with little panes of glass.

Inside, there were three rooms, the bedroom shared by the father and

the son, the daughter's bedroom, and the common room, which served at

once as kitchen, dining-room, and workshop. And all three chambers were

very clean, with their walls and their vaulted roof of stone, and their

substantial, if roughly hewn, furniture.

As Jordan had said, the Morfains from father to son had been

master-smelters at La Crêcherie. The grandfather had helped to found

the establishment, and after an uninterrupted family reign of more

than eighty years the grandson now kept watch over the tappings. Like

some indisputable title of nobility the hereditary character of his

calling filled Morfain with pride. His wife had now been dead four

years, leaving him a son then sixteen, and a daughter then fourteen

years of age. The lad had immediately begun to work at the furnace, and

the girl had taken care of the two men, cooking their meals, sweeping

and cleaning the dwelling-place like a good housewife. In this wise

had the days gone by; the girl was now eighteen and the lad twenty,

and the father quietly watched his race continuing pending the time

when he might hand over the furnace to his son, even as his father had

transmitted it to him.

'Ah! so you are here, Morfain,' said Jordan, when he had pushed open

the door, which was merely closed by a latch. 'I have just returned

home, and I wanted to know how things were getting on.'

Within the rocky cavity, lighted by a small and smoky lamp, the

father and son sat at table eating some soup--a mess of broth and

vegetables--before starting on their night's work, whilst the daughter

stood in the rear, serving them. And their huge shadows seemed to fill

the place, which was very solemn and silent. At last in a gruff voice

Morfain slowly answered, 'We've had a bad business, Monsieur Jordan,

but I hope that things will be quiet now.'

He rose to his feet, as did his son, and stood there between the lad

and the girl, all three of them strongly built and of such lofty

stature that their heads almost touched the rough smoky stone vault,

which served as a ceiling to the room. One might have taken them for

three apparitions of the vanished ages, some family of mighty toilers

whose long efforts throughout the centuries had subjugated nature.

Luc gazed with amazement at Morfain, a veritable colossus, one of the

Vulcans of old by whom fire was first conquered. He had an enormous

head, with a broad face, ravined and scorched by the flames. His brow

was a bossy one, his eyes glowed like live coals, his nose showed like

an eagle's beak between his cheeks, which looked as if they had been

ravaged by some flow of lava. And his swollen, twisted mouth was of a

tawny redness like that of a burn; while his hands had the colour and

the strength of pincers of old steel.

Then Luc glanced at the son, Petit-Da,[2] as he was called, this

nickname having been given him because in childhood he had been

accustomed to pronounce certain words badly, and, further, had one

day narrowly missed losing his little fingers in some 'pig' which was

scarcely cold. He again was a colossus, almost as huge as his father,

whose square face, imperious nose, and flaming eyes he had inherited.

But he had been less hardened, less marked by fire; and, besides, he

could read, and his features were softened and brightened by dawning

powers of thought.

Finally Luc gazed at the daughter, Ma-Bleue, as her father had ever

lovingly called her, so blue indeed were her great eyes, the eyes of

a fair-haired goddess, lightly and infinitely blue, and so large that

in all her face one was conscious of nothing else save that celestial

blueness. She was a goddess of lofty stature, of simple yet magnificent

comeliness, the most beautiful, the most taciturn, the wildest creature

of the region, yet one who in her wildness dreamt, read books, and saw

from afar off the approach of things that her father had never seen,

and the unconfessed expectation of which made her quiver. Luc marvelled

at the sight of those three creatures of heroic build, that family in

which he detected all the long overpowering labour of mankind on its

onward march, all the pride begotten of painful effort incessantly

renewed, all the ancient nobility that springs from deadly toil.

But Jordan had become anxious. 'A bad business, Morfain!' said he, 'how

was that?'

'Yes, Monsieur Jordan, one of the twyers got stopped up. For two days

I fancied that we were going to have a misfortune, and I didn't sleep

for thought of it. It grieved me so much that a thing like that should

happen to me just when you were away. It's best to go and see if you've

the time. We shall be "running" by-and-by.'

The two men finished their soup standing, hastily swallowing large

spoonfuls of it whilst the girl already began to wipe the table.

They rarely spoke together, a gesture or a glance sufficed for them

to understand each other. Nevertheless the father, affectionately

softening his gruff voice, said to Ma-Bleue: 'You can put out the

light, you need not wait for us, we shall have a rest up above.'

Then whilst Morfain and Petit-Da went off in front, accompanying

Jordan, Luc, who was in the rear, glanced round, and on the threshold

of that barbarian home he perceived Ma-Bleue, standing erect, tall and

superb, like some _amorosa_ of the ancient days, whilst her large azure

eyes wandered dreamily far away into the clear night.

The black pile of the furnace soon arose before the young man's view.

It was of a very ancient pattern, heavy and squat, not more than fifty

feet in height. But by degrees various improvements had been added, new

organs, as it were, which had ended by forming a little village around

it. The running hall, floored with fine sand, looked light and elegant

with its iron framework roofed with tiles. Then on the left, inside

a large glazed shed, was the blast apparatus with its steam engine;

whilst on the right rose the two groups of lofty cylinders, those in

which the combustible gases became purified, and those in which they

served to warm the blast from the engine, in order that it might reach

the furnace burning hot, and in this wise hasten combustion. And there

were also a number of water-tanks and a whole system of piping, which

kept moisture ever trickling down the sides of the brick walls in order

to cool them and diminish the wear and tear of the awful fire raging

within. Thus the monster virtually disappeared beneath the intricate

medley of its adjuncts, a conglomeration of buildings, a bristling

of iron tanks, an entanglement of big metal pipes, the whole forming

an extraordinary jumble which, at night-time especially, displayed

the most barbarous, fantastic silhouettes. Above, beside the rock one

perceived the bridge which brought the trucks laden with ore and fuel

to the level of the mouth of the furnace. Below, the kieve reared its

black cone, and then from the belly downward a powerful metal armature

sustained the brickwork which supported the water conduits and the

four twyers. Finally, at the bottom there was but the crucible, with

its taphole closed with a bung of refractory clay. But what a gigantic

beast the whole made, a beast of disquieting, bewildering shape, which

devoured stones and gave out metal in fusion.

Moreover, was there scarcely a sound, scarcely a light. That mighty

digestion apparently preferred silence and gloom. One could only hear

the faint trickling of the water running down the sides of the bricks,

and the ceaseless distant rumbling of the blast apparatus in the

engine-shed. And the only lights were those of three or four lanterns

gleaming amidst the darkness, which the shadows of the huge buildings

rendered the more dense. Moreover, only a few pale figures were seen

flitting about, the eight smelters of the night-shift, who wandered

hither and thither whilst waiting for the next 'run.' On the platform

of the mouth of the furnace up above one could not even discern the men

who, silently obeying the signals sent them from below, poured into the

furnace the requisite charges of ore and fuel. And there was not a cry,

not a flash of light; it was all dim, mute labour, something mighty and

savage accomplished in the gloom.