Had things turned out
otherwise, Thomas might have had a pittance assured him, even though he
was unable to work. But under the circumstances the only hope for the
poor stricken fellow lay in his employer's compassion, if not his sense
of justice.
As the baby again began to cry, Madame Toussaint went to fetch it, and
she was once more carrying it to and fro, when Thomas pressed her
husband's sound hand between both his own. "We will come back," said the
young man; "we won't forsake you, Toussaint. You know very well that
people like you, for you've always been a good and steady workman. So
rely on us, we will do all we can."
Then they left him tearful and overpowered, in that dismal room, while,
up and down beside him, his wife rocked the squealing infant--that other
luckless creature, who was now so heavy on the old folks' hands, and like
them was fated to die of want and unjust toil.
Toil, manual toil, panting at every effort, this was what Pierre and
Thomas once more found at the works. From the slender pipes above the
roofs spurted rhythmical puffs of steam, which seemed like the very
breath of all that labour. And in the work-shops one found a continuous
rumbling, a whole army of men in motion, forging, filing, and piercing,
amidst the spinning of leather gearing and the trembling of machinery.
The day was ending with a final feverish effort to complete some task or
other before the bell should ring for departure.
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