Oliver's companion laughed. "There is less difference between black and white, Oliver, and between the charcoal and the diamond, than most people think. Later you will learn that for yourself; just now you must take my word for it. But to resume our narrative. The next morning Raymond and his master, as I have said, produced from the first formula a second, by means of one drop of which they created in a closed crucible, in which five pounds of charcoal had been volatilized, a half-score of diamond crystals of various sizes, and one fine blue-white crystal of nearly eight carats in size. Oliver," cried the speaker, rising in his enthusiasm, and striding up and down the room, "that was, to my belief, the greatest discovery that the world ever saw! Other philosophers have approached the solution of the problem of life, and have prolonged their existence ten, twenty, yes, fifty years; still other philosophers have transmuted the baser metals into gold; but who ever heard of transmuting black charcoal into brilliant diamonds?" He stopped abruptly and turned towards the lad, and Oliver saw the eyes which looked into his blaze with excitement, like the diamonds of which he spoke. "Do you wonder," he cried, "that Raymond Lulli and his master acted like madmen when they opened that retort, and found those sparkling crystals twinkling like stars upon the rough surface of the metal? Ha!" III. "But, as I said, it was a long time before those experiments were concluded--before the great problems of life and wealth were solved. Nine months had passed since Raymond had come, dusty and travel-stained, like a beggar to the master's door, asking for crumbs of knowledge. It was the consummation of their life's success. The very next morning after that consummation came ruin. A blow, sharp and terrible, fell upon the house. "It was late, and the master had not yet made his appearance. Raymond Lulli, passing along the hall-way with a book under his arm, met Agnes at a door-way. "'My father,' said she, 'has not yet come down from his room.' "'I will call him, Agnes,' said Raymond, and then she noticed that his face was as pale as ashes. "'Are you ill, Raymond?' she asked. "'No--yes, I am ill,' he shuddered. 'I will go and call your father.' And he turned away. "Agnes stood watching him as he, with slow, heavy steps, climbed the steep stairs that led to the master's room above. She watched him as he reached the door and knocked; and then, after a pause, knocked again, and then again; she watched him as he laid his hand hesitatingly upon the latch, and then raised it, and pushed open the door. "The next moment the heavy book slipped from under his arm, and fell with a crash to the floor. 'Agnes!' he cried, 'your father!' And then his voice rang through the house: 'Jean! Franquois! Joseph! The master, help!--the master!' [Illustration: "THEY SAW ARNOLD DE VILLENEUVE, THE GREAT MASTER, UPON THE FLOOR."]