Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/116

Chapter 13

For a long time now Pierre, the nailer at the furrier's shop had looked for an opportunity to be left alone with his fellow workers. The strike in the steel factories gave him no rest. He regretted having to work in a small shop, with a tiny group of middle-class-minded people for whom it was more difficult to understand the vast problems impending than to bring the heavens down to earth.

Yet he had not given up hope. By nature an optimist, he had long comforted himself with the realization that all streams lead to the same sea, that somewhere even this little furrier shop would find common ground with the huge metal factory. Meanwhile he had made up his mind to bring his fellow workers into the union and thus take the first step towards organization and discipline.

It was a hot June day. The early heat-wave that had descended on Paris seemed to press down with an especial severity between the grey cement walls of the small shop. Through the open windows a warm gust of wind, joined by particles of black soot, only increased one's longing for a breath of pure air and the sound of cool, running waters. The monotonous whirring of motors suggested the buzzing of bees over gardens of blooming flowers, or the sound of crickets on a lazy summer afternoon.

The foreman was not in. He had gone with the boss to purchase new skins, leaving quotas of work with all the