“My friends, I know you too well to accuse you of the crime which has been committed here. I am well aware that you are hot-headed, but you are very honest all the same. Besides, what would have been the use of such wilful destruction, if not to throw you on to the streets and cause you to die of hunger? The very moment the fire broke out, your delegates and ourselves were on the point of coming to a mutual understanding. After the good will you have just given proof of, in uniting to save the works, I can only admit of one solution, the one most favourable to you. Accordingly, I grant you your demands.” An immense cheer of mingled joy and gratitude burst from five hundred throats. Caps were waved high in the air. Graff raised his hand; silence was instantly restored. “I beg you to remember that it is to the manager quite as much as to myself that you owed this result. If he is severe in point of discipline, it is because he feels it to be necessary in the interest of the work. But no one is a stauncher upholder of your interests than your excellent director.” “Hurrah for M. Cardez!” Uncle Graff smiled. “Come, come! You are like overgrown children! Yesterday you wanted to hang him. And myself into the bargain! To-day you receive him with shouts of joy. And it is at this moment that you are more just and reasonable. Remember what has taken place. And next time you have any demands to make, do not begin by threats of murder. Now, go home, all of you, and to-morrow morning, at the usual hour, we shall expect you back at work!” The crowd melted away in respectful silence. With its usual fickleness it now showered blessings on those it had formerly cursed. Obeying its instincts, which are always generous and kind when left to develop freely, it congratulated itself on the happy ending of a day which might have been so tragic, and now withdrew, delighted at the prospect of resuming the labour it had contemptibly looked upon as utter slavery. PART III CHAPTER I WHILST Milona was running in the direction of Ars, her mistress returned quietly to the salon. Flinging herself on the sofa, she abandoned herself to a delightful reverie. What a difference she found between Cesare Agostini and Marcel! A feeling of nausea came over her when she compared them with one another. The complaisant and needy lover, who always knew when to close his eyes, when some mysterious interests of his were at stake, and this tender, sincere lover, who thought of nothing but her happiness, and sacrificed for that his own.