It was no other than the Archduke Henry Francis, his face red as it usually was, his feet in heavy laced shoes, his tall, thin body in a suit of dark clothes whose stains and grime spoke of the laboratory. Faithful to his threat of the previous night, he had prevented Verdier from lunching at the table of the Baroness; neither had he been present himself. The master and the pupil had eaten, as they often did, between two experiments, standing in their working aprons beside one of the furnaces. Then the Prince had retired, ostensibly for a siesta, it not appearing whether he had really wished to rest, or had planned a decisive proof, by which to measure the intimacy already existing between Miss Marsh and his assistant. He had, of course, not mentioned the name of any guest to Verdier, nor had Verdier spoken of this matter. So when on entering the parlor he saw the American girl and the young man talking familiarly apart, a look of veritable fury came into his face. His eyes glared from one group to the other. If he had had the power at that moment, he would have put them all in irons, his wife because she was certainly to blame for this treason, Madame Brion and Madame Bonnacorsi because Madame de Carlsberg loved them; Madame de Chésy and Hautefeuille because they were the complacent witnesses of this _tête-à-tête_! In his imperious voice, which he could scarcely control, he called from one end of the room to the other:-- "Monsieur Verdier!" Verdier turned. His shock at seeing the Prince, his humiliation at being summoned in this way before the woman he loved, his impatience with a yoke borne so long, were audible in the accent with which he answered:-- "Monseigneur?" "I need you in the laboratory," said the Archduke; "please come, and come at once." Now it was the eyes of the assistant that shone with fury. For a few moments the spectators of this odious scene could observe the tragic combat of pride and gratitude in the face of this superior man so unworthily humiliated. The Archduke had been peculiarly kind to the young man's family. A dog unjustly beaten has that way of looking at his master; will he fly at his throat or obey him? Doubtless Verdier, knowing the Archduke, feared to arouse the anger of that madman and a burst of insulting insolence against Florence Marsh. Perhaps, too, he thought that his position of an employee under obligations permitted but one dignified course--to oppose his own correctness of deportment to the unqualified roughness of his master. "I am coming, monseigneur," he replied, and, taking Miss Marsh's hand for the first time, he dared to kiss it. "You will excuse me, mademoiselle," he said, "for having to leave you, but I hope to be able to call before long--mesdames, monsieur." And he followed his redoubtable patron, who had departed as abruptly as he had entered, when he saw Verdier raise to his lips the hand of Miss Marsh.