Nothing could be simpler.

The stoker took the iron shank from the furnace; the striker put it into the socket, where a continuous stream of water cooled it to prevent softening of the steel.

The press descended and the bolt flew out onto the ground, its head as round as though cast in a mold.

Every twelve hours this machine made hundreds of kilograms of bolts! Goujet was not a mean person, but there were moments when he wanted to take Fifine and smash this machine to bits because he was angry to see that its arms were stronger than his own.

He reasoned with himself, telling himself that human flesh cannot compete with steel.