n, called the Devourers; while many of the stonecutters in the
neighboring quarries belonged to a society called the Wolves. Now, for a
long time, an implacable rivalry had existed between the Wolves and
Devourers, and brought about many sanguinary struggles, which are the
more to be deplored, as, in some respects, the idea of these unions is
excellent, being founded on the fruitful and mighty principle of
association. But unfortunately, instead of embracing all trades in one
fraternal communion, these unions break up the working-class into
distinct and hostile societies, whose rivalry often leads to bloody
collisions.[27] For the last week, the Wolves, excited by so many different
importunities, burned to discover an occasion or a pretext to come to
blows with the Devourers; but the latter, not frequenting the
public-houses, and hardly leaving the factory during the week, had
hitherto rendered such a meeting impossible, and the Wolves had been
forced to wait for the Sunday with ferocious impatience.

Moreover, a great number of the quarrymen and stonecutters, being
peaceable and hard-working people, had refused, though Wolves themselves
to join this hostile manifestation against the Devourers of M. Hardy's
factory; the leaders had been obliged to recruit their forces from the
vagabonds and idlers of the barriers, whom the attraction of tumult and
disorder had easily enlisted under the flag of the warlike Wolves. Such
then was the dull fermentation, which agitated the little village of
Villiers, whilst the two men of whom we have spoken were at table in the
public-house.

These men had asked for a private room, that they might be alone. One of
them was still young, and pretty well dressed. But the disorder in his
clothes, his loose cravat, his shirt spotted with wine, his dishevelled
hair, his look of fatigue, his marble complexion, his bloodshot eyes,
announced that a night of debauch had preceded this morning; whilst his
abrupt and heavy gesture, his hoarse voice, his look, sometimes
brilliant, and sometimes stupid, proved that to the last fumes of the
intoxication of the night before, were joined the first attacks of a new
state of drunkenness. The companion of this man said to him, as he
touched his glass with his own: "Your health, my boy!"

"Yours!" answered the young man; "though you look to me like the devil."

"I!--the devil?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"How did you come to know me?"

"Do you repent that you ev