Germinal Émile Zola (e reader books .txt) 📖

advice was sound. This time, however, he grew angry at last, all the more so since he secretly shared her fears.

“Just leave me alone, will you?” he said, going to bed and turning his back. “A fine thing to leave the mates now! I’m doing my duty.”

She went to bed in her turn. Neither of them spoke. Then, after a long silence, she replied:

“You’re right; go. Only, poor old man, we are done for.”

Midday struck while they were at lunch, for the rendezvous was at one o’clock at the Avantage, from which they were to go together to M. Hennebeau’s. They were eating potatoes. As there was only a small morsel of butter left, no one touched it. They would have bread and butter in the evening.

“You know that we reckon on you to speak,” said Étienne suddenly to Maheu.

The latter was so overcome that he was silent from emotion.

“No, no! that’s too much,” cried Maheude. “I’m quite willing he should go there, but I don’t allow him to go at the head. Why him, more than anyone else?”

Then Étienne, with his fiery eloquence, began to explain. Maheu was the best worker in the pit, the most liked, and the most respected; whose good sense was always spoken of. In his mouth the miners’ claims would carry decisive weight. At first Étienne had arranged to speak, but he had been at Montsou for too short a time. One who belonged to the country would be better listened to. In fact, the comrades were confiding their interests to the most worthy; he could not refuse, it would be cowardly.

Maheude made a gesture of despair.

“Go, go, my man; go and be killed for the others. I’m willing, after all!”

“But I could never do it,” stammered Maheu. “I should say something stupid.”

Étienne, glad to have persuaded him, struck him on the shoulder.

“Say what you feel, and you won’t go wrong.”

Father Bonnemort, whose legs were now less swollen, was listening with his mouth full, shaking his head. There was silence. When potatoes were being eaten, the children were subdued and behaved well. Then, having swallowed his mouthful, the old man muttered slowly:

“You can say what you like, and it will be all the same as if you said nothing. Ah! I’ve seen these affairs, I’ve seen them! Forty years ago they drove us out of the manager’s house, and with sabres too! Now they may receive you, perhaps, but they won’t answer you any more than that wall. Lord! they have money, why should they care?”

There was silence again; Maheu and Étienne rose, and left the family in gloom before the empty plates. On going out they called for Pierron and Levaque, and then all four went to Rasseneur’s, where the delegates from the neighbouring settlements were arriving in little groups. When the twenty members of the deputation had assembled there, they settled on the terms to be opposed to the Company’s, and then set out for Montsou. The keen northeast wind was sweeping the street. As they arrived, it struck two.

At first the servant told them to wait, and shut the door on them; then, when he came back, he introduced them into the drawing-room, and opened the curtains. A soft daylight entered, sifted through the lace. And the miners, when left alone, in their embarrassment did not dare to sit; all of them very clean, dressed in cloth, shaven that morning, with their yellow hair and moustaches. They twisted their caps between their fingers, and looked sideways at the furniture, which was in every variety of style, as a result of the taste for the old-fashioned: Henry II easy-chairs, Louis XV chairs, an Italian cabinet of the seventeenth century, a Spanish contador of the fifteenth century, with an altar-front serving as a chimneypiece, and ancient chasuble trimming reapplied to the curtains. This old gold and these old silks, with their tawny tones, all this luxurious church furniture, had overwhelmed them with respectful discomfort. The eastern carpets with their long wool seemed to bind their feet. But what especially suffocated them was the heat, heat like that of a hot-air stove, which surprised them as they felt it with cheeks frozen from the wind of the road. Five minutes passed by and their awkwardness increased in the comfort of this rich room, so pleasantly warm. At last M. Hennebeau entered, buttoned up in a military manner and wearing on his frock-coat the correct little bow of his decoration. He spoke first.

“Ah! here you are! You are in rebellion, it seems.”

He interrupted himself to add with polite stiffness:

“Sit down, I desire nothing better than to talk things over.”

The miners turned round looking for seats. A few of them ventured to place themselves on chairs, while the others, disturbed by the embroidered silks, preferred to remain standing.

There was a period of silence. M. Hennebeau, who had drawn his easy-chair up to the fireplace, was rapidly looking them over and endeavouring to recall their faces. He had recognized Pierron, who was hidden in the last row, and his eyes rested on Étienne who was seated in front of him.

“Well,” he asked, “what have you to say to me?”

He had expected to hear the young man speak and he was so surprised to see Maheu come forward that he could not avoid adding:

“What! you, a good workman who have always been so sensible, one of the old Montsou people whose family has worked in the mine since the first stroke of the axe! Ah! it’s a pity, I’m sorry that you are at the head of the discontented.”

Maheu listened with his eyes down. Then he began, at first in a low and hesitating voice.

“It is just because I am a quiet man, sir, whom no one has anything against, that my mates have chosen me. That ought to show you that it isn’t just a rebellion of blusterers, badly-disposed men who want to create disorder. We only want justice, we are tired of