Goujet was expecting her, his arms and chest bare, whilst he hammered harder on the anvil on those days so as to make himself heard at a distance.

He divined her presence, and greeted her with a good silent laugh in his yellow beard.

But she would not let him leave off his work; she begged him to take up his hammer again, because she loved him the more when he wielded it with his big arms swollen with muscles.

She would go and give Etienne a gentle tap on the cheek, as he hung on to the bellows, and then remain for an hour watching the rivets.
The two did not exchange a dozen words.

They could not have more completely satisfied their love if alone in a room with the door double-locked.