Page:Germinal - Zola - 1925.djvu/55

GERMINAL lamp was burning blue with a large pale ring, she tried at least to amuse him.

“Come, I will show you something,” she said, in a friendly way.

When she had led him to the bottom of the cutting, she pointed out to him a crevice in the coal. A slight bubbling escaped from it, a little noise like the warbling of a bird.

“Put your hand there; you’ll feel the wind. It’s firedamp.”

He was surprised. Is that all? Is that the terrible thing which blew everything up? She laughed, she said there was a good deal of it today to make the flame of the lamps so blue.

““Now, if you've done chattering, lazy louts!” cried Maheu’s rough voice.

Catherine and Étienne hastened to fill their trams, and pushed them to the upbrow with stiffened back, crawling beneath the bossy roof of the passage. Even after the second journey, the sweat ran off them and their joints began to crack.

The pikemen had resumed work in the cutting. The men often shortened their breakfast to avoid getting cold; and their bricks, eaten in this way, far from the sun, with silent voracity, loaded their stomachs with lead. Stretched on their sides they hammered more loudly, with the one fixed idea of filling a large number of trams. Every thought disappeared in this rage for gain which was so hard to earn. They no longer felt the water which streamed on them and swelled their limbs, the cramps of forced attitudes, the suffocation of the darkness in which they grew pale, like plants put in a cellar. Yet, as the day advanced, the air became more poisoned and heated with the smoke of the lamps, with the pestilence of their breaths, with the asphyxia of the fire-damp—painful to the eyes like spiders’ webs—which only the aëration of the night could sweep away. At the bottom of their mole-hill, beneath the weight of the earth, with no more breath in their inflamed lungs, they went on hammering. [43]