"The silent pool is a very romantic spot, do you not think so, _mon cousin_?" "I know so little about romance, Mademoiselle." "The woods will teach you, _mon cousin_." "I would be grateful." "Laurent and I often wander in the woods--don't we, Laurent?" Laurent, sitting on the edge of the stone balustrade, with his arms folded over his chest and a sinister scowl upon his face, did not vouchsafe an answer to the direct query. "We have been as far as the silent pool," continued Fernande unconcernedly. "It is a short walk from Courson," rejoined de Maurel. "A very long one, I think ... over six kilometres." "Over six kilometres.... Yes." "Therefore, we have never been further than the pool." Yet another pause. Madame la Marquise had resumed her knitting. M. de Courson tried not to appear ill at ease, and Laurent, whose exasperation became more and more obvious every moment, jumped down from the balustrade and began pacing up and down the veranda, hoping thereby to keep his nerves under control. "But from the distance I have seen the smoke of your foundries, _mon cousin_," again resumed Fernande, wholly unperturbed. "!!" "I have never seen the interior of a foundry in my life." "It is not a romantic sight, Mademoiselle." "_Oh, que si, mon cousin!_" she retorted with sudden seriousness. "There is nothing more romantic than to see a man toiling with his body and with his brain, using his intelligence and the power which his mind has given him, in order to overcome the many difficulties which God has laid in his path, in face of the great natural advantages which He has assigned to His brute creation. And then to see hundreds of men all working together in the same way and for the same end--working in order to wrest from Nature her manifold secrets and enchain them in the service of Man. Oh, it must, indeed, be a very inspiring sight, and one I would dearly love to see!" She had spoken with an air of quaint earnestness which became the spiritual aspect of her personality to perfection. De Maurel had listened to her with grave intentness, his brows knit together as if he was afraid to miss some hidden meaning in her words. Laurent, on the other hand, had found it difficult to contain himself while she delivered herself of her somewhat pompous little speech. Now before his brother could reply he broke in with a harsh laugh: "An inspiring sight, mayhap, but also a mightily unpleasant smell. Smoke, grime, dirt," he added tartly, "mingled with perspiring humanity, make up a sum total of unpleasant odours which you, Fernande, would be the first to resent if my brother Ronnay were so foolish as to accede to your whim." "You must leave me to judge, my dear Laurent," retorted Fernande, with one of her demure little pouts, "as to what I would resent and what not. Well, _mon cousin_," she added once more, turning to de Maurel, "you hear what Laurent says. Are you going to be sufficiently foolish to gratify my curiosity?"