_The women applaud this speech with enthusiasm._ A WOMAN [_bursting out laughing_] Ha! Ha! Ha! WOMEN. Right, Mademoiselle! Well done! Good! _They come further forward._ BERTHE. You won't get our work away from us. DESCHAUME. It's _our_ work; you took it. BERTHE. You gave it up to us. A MAN. Well, we'll take it back from you. ANOTHER MAN. We were wrong. ANOTHER MAN. Drive out the Hens. ANOTHER MAN. The strike! Long live the strike! We'll come out! A WOMAN. We'll take your places; we've got to live. A MAN. There's no living for you here. A WOMAN. Yes there is; we'll take yours. THERESE. Yes, we'll take yours. And your wife that you brought here yourself will take your place, Vincent. And you the same, Deschaume. She'll take your place, and it'll serve you right. You can stay at home and do the mending to amuse yourself. GIRARD [_to the women_] This woman from Paris is turning the heads of the lot of you. CHARPIN. Yes, that's about the size of it. VINCENT. She don't play the game. She does as she bloomin' well likes. She wouldn't engage my old woman. She took women from Duriot's. GIRARD [_to Therese_] That's it. It's you that's doing it. [_To the women_] You've got to ask the same wages as us. THERESE. You know very well-- GIRARD [_interrupting_] It's all along of your damned Union. VINCENT. There wasn't any ructions till you come. CHARPIN. We'll smash the Hens' Union. _A row begins and increases._ A MAN. Put 'em through it! Down 'em! Smash the Hens! Smash 'em! A WOMAN. Turn out the lazy swines! A WOMAN [_half mad with excitement_] We're fightin' for our kids. [_She shrieks this phrase continuously during the noise which follows_] BERTHE. Turn out the lazy swines! DESCHAUME [_shaking his wife_] Shut up, blast you, shut up! ANOTHER MAN [_holding him back_] Don't strike her! DESCHAUME. It's my wife; can't I do as I like? [_To Berthe_] Get out, you! BERTHE. I won't! _Deschaume tries to seize hold of his wife; this starts a general fight between the men and women, during which one distinguishes various cries, finally a man's voice._ A MAN. Damn her, she's hurt me! ANOTHER MAN. It's her scissors! Get hold of her scissors. _Berthe screams._ THERESE. They'll kill one another! [_To the women_] Go home, go home; they'll kill you. Go home at once. _The women are suddenly taken with a panic; they scream and run away, followed by the men._ A WOMAN. Oh, you brutes! Oh, you brutes! _Therese goes out to the right with the women. The men go off with Deschaume, whose hand is bleeding. Girard, who was following them, meets Monsieur Feliat at the door._ GIRARD [_to Feliat_] Deschaume's bin hurt, sir. FELIAT. He must be taken to the Infirmary. DESCHAUME [_excitedly_] With her scissors she did it, blast 'er! CHARPIN. The police, send for the police! GIRARD. Don't be a bally fool. We can take care of ourselves, can't we, without the bloomin' coppers.