"We are going to keep on till the end of the week," he said, when he returned home at night. And, sure enough, on Friday night he came back with a triumphant air, and threw his bag of tools into a corner of the room. "It's done!" he said. "What is done?" cried Marianne, in alarm. "The factory, from to-night, is picketed." "Picketed!" "Yes, every hand forbidden to enter it: the first of ours who enters the gates will be a dead man!" "By what right?" "Because we've come out on strike!" "On strike!" repeated Marianne, shuddering at that terrific word. "Then you are not going to work--will have no more wages to receive; but what is to become of us, then? How are we to live?" "Oh! don't worry yourself about that," replied the blacksmith, feeling a little uneasy in spite of his words; "we have funds, we shall all get two francs a day." "Two francs--and four children!" "You have some savings?" "And when they are gone?" "Oh, don't bother me!--so long as the workman gets his rights. We've had enough of this miserable existence." "Miserable on what you have been earning?" said Marianne. "Look about you. In this very house, on the first floor, there is a family: the husband alone works, and has a salary of only eighteen hundred francs a year." "_Only_ eighteen hundred!" "That's five francs a day, and you earn double that." "I suppose that is so--when you count it up." "Well, these people have three children, and when they go out they are dressed like princes." "Yes, but they don't eat." "You mean they don't _drink_. Well, they find the means for going out on Sundays, for going once or twice a year to the theatre, to receive friends--in short, they appear to be at ease, and make no complaint as to their condition." "What!" cried the blacksmith, bringing down his clenched fist heavily on the table, "do you compare me with a paper-scratcher? Are such things as him men at all? He has not even a trade! A paper-scratcher!--a pack of useless idlers the whole lot of them--as bad as tradesmen and the rest of the bloodsuckers!" [Illustration: "AT THE CABARET."] Marianne saw that he had no other answer to give. For some time he was no longer himself. He did not get exactly drunk, but he was constantly in a state that was half-way towards intoxication, and a mere nothing roused his anger. It was still worse some days later, and if the wife was resigned, the mother asked herself in terror, whether it was possible for her to continue to live with him. He did no work, and his days were spent at the cabaret, sometimes part of his nights. He, formerly so kind and tender to his wife, regarded her with nothing but savage looks; and as to his children, of whom he had been so fond, he ceased to notice them even.