Thus Camille's debt was paid, and the honour of the Sauvalliers was
saved. But the father's fortune had gone!
He was able, however, to retain his business. He said to himself that he
must work still, in spite of his threescore years; that he must labour
incessantly, with the anxious ardour of those beginning life with
nothing to rely upon save their own exertions.
He reduced his expenses, gave up his own house and went to live with his
son, sold his carriage and horses, discharged his servants, and stinted
himself in every possible way. Auguste became his designer, Auguste's
wife his clerk. Each accepted his or her share of the burden bravely and
uncomplainingly, as an important duty which must at any cost be
accomplished.
The conduct of this old man, so jealous for his name, so upright, so
courageous in misfortune, excited profound sympathy. All who knew him
pitied him; orders flowed in, and soon a quite exceptional activity
pervaded the establishment from basement to roof, inspiring Mons.
Sauvallier with a little hope. But one persistent fear disturbed his
sleep, and troubled his waking hours. It was that some day he might hear
that Camille had been gambling again, and was once more in debt. He had
forbidden all mention of his erring son, but the thought of him was ever
present, and lay like an incubus upon his heart.
One year passed, then another. The foundry still flourished; work
positively raged therein. It had no rest; it also, as though endowed
with a conscience, did its duty nobly. Its furnaces glowed like ardent
eyes; its mighty puffing and snorting shook the ground: the molten
metal, red and fuming, flowed from its crucibles like blood from its
body. At an early hour of the morning was heard its piercing summons to
the work-people, and all the night long its glare illuminated the sky.