"I am not in a humor to laugh," replied Jacques, abruptly, for he was
getting excited from the effects of the wine; "it is more than I can bear
to think of that man. It exasperates me! it drives me mad! You should
have heard him saying: 'Beggarly workmen! rascally workmen! they grumble
that they have no food in their bellies; well, then, we'll give them
bayonets to stop their hunger.'[11] And there's the children in his
factory--you should see them, poor little creatures!--working as long as
the men--wasting away, and dying by the dozen--what odds? as soon as they
were dead plenty of others came to take their places--not like horses,
which can only be replaced with money."

"Well, it is clear, that you do not like your old master," said Dumoulin,
more and more surprised at his Amphitryon's gloomy and thoughtful air,
and, regretting that the conversation had taken this serious turn, he
whispered a few words in the ear of the Bacchanal Queen, who answered by
a sign of intelligence.

"I don't like M. Tripeaud!" exclaimed Jacques. "I hate him--and shall I
tell you why? Because it is as much his fault as mine, that I have become
a good-for-nothing loafer. I don't say it to screen myself; but it is the
truth. When I was 'prenticed to him as a lad, I was all heart and ardor,
and so bent upon work, that I used to take my shirt off to my task,
which, by the way, was the reason that I was first called Sleepinbuff.
Well! I might have toiled myself to death; not one word of encouragement
did I receive. I came first to my work, and was the last to leave off;
what matter? it was not even noticed. One day, I was injured by the
machinery. I was taken to the hospital. When I came out, weak as I was, I
went straight to my work; I was not to be frightened; the others, who
knew their master well, would often say to me: 'What a muff you must be,
little one! What good will you get by working so hard?'--still I went on.