Tripeaud passes; Father Arsene begs him with clasped hands to keep him at half-wages.`What!' says M.Tripeaud, shrugging his shoulders; `do you think that I will turn my factory into a house of invalids? You are no longer able to work--so be off!' `But I have worked forty years of my life; what is to become of me?' cried poor Father Arsene.`That is not my business,' answered M.Tripeaud; and, addressing his clerk, he added:
`Pay what is due for the week, and let him cut his stick.' Father Arsene did cut his stick; that evening, he and his old wife suffocated themselves with charcoal.Now, you see, I was then a lad; but that story of Father Arsene taught me, that, however hard you might work, it would only profit your master, who would not even thank you for it, and leave you to die on the flags in your old age.So all my fire was damped, and I said to myself: `What's the use of doing more than I just need? If I gain heaps of gold for M.Tripeaud, shall I get an atom of it?'
Therefore, finding neither pride nor profit in my work, I took a disgust for it--just did barely enough to earn my wages--became an idler and a rake--and said to myself: `When I get too tired of labor, I can always follow the example of Father Arsene and his wife."'
Whilst Jacques resigned himself to the current of these bitter thoughts, the other guests, incited by the expressive pantomime of Dumoulin and the Bacchanal Queen, had tacitly agreed together; and, on a signal from the Queen, who leaped upon the table, and threw down the bottles and glasses with her foot, all rose and shouted, with the accompaniment of Ninny Moulin's rattle "The storm blown Tulip! the quadrille of the Storm-blown Tulip!"