GERMINAL
speak well, put himself at the head of every opposition, and had at last become the chief of the discontented. His wife already held a licence, like many miner’s wives; and when he was thrown on to the street he became an inn-keeper himself; having found the money, he placed his inn in front of the Voreux as a provocation to the Company. Now his house had prospered; it had become a centre, and he was enriched by the animosity which he had gradually fostered in the hearts of his old comrades.
“This is a lad I hired this morning,” said Maheu at once. “Have you got one of your two rooms free, and will you give him credit for a fortnight?”
Rasseneur’s broad face suddenly expressed great suspicion. He examined Étienne with a glance, and replied, without giving himself the trouble to express any regret:
“My two rooms are taken. Can’t do it.”
The young man expected this refusal; but it hurt him nevertheless, and he was surprised at the sudden grief he experienced in leaving. No matter; he would go when he had received his thirty sous. The miner who was drinking at a table had left. Others, one by one, continued to come in to clear their throats, then went on their road with the same slouching gait. It was a simple washing without joy or passion, the silent satisfaction of a need.
“Then, there’s no news?” Rasseneur asked in a peculiar tone of Maheu, who was finishing his beer in small gulps.
The latter turned his head, and saw that only Étienne was near.
“There’s been more squabbling. Yes, about the timbering.”
He told the story. The innkeeper’s face reddened, swelling with emotion, which flamed in his skin and eyes. At last he broke out:
“Well, well! if they decide to lower the price they are done for.”
Étienne constrained him. However he went on, throwing side-long glances in his direction. And there were reticences, and implications; he was talking of the manager, M. Hennebeau, of his wife, of his nephew, the little Négrel, without naming them, repeating that this could not go on, that things were bound to smash up one of these fine days. The misery
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