Van Tricasse, who never argued until he had snugly ensconced himself in a spacious armchair, had risen to his feet. I know not what nervous excitement, quite foreign to his temperament, had taken possession of him. He did not gesticulate as yet, but this could not be far off. As for the counsellor, he rubbed his legs, and breathed with slow and long gasps. His look became animated little by little, and he had “decided” to support at all hazards, if need be, his trusty friend the burgomaster. Van Tricasse got up and took several steps; then he came back, and stood facing the doctor. “And in how many months,” he asked in a somewhat emphatic tome, “do you say that your work will be finished?” “In three or four months, Monsieur the burgomaster,” replied Doctor Ox. “Three or four months,—it’s a very long time!” said Van Tricasse. “Altogether too long!” added Niklausse, who, not being able to keep his seat, rose also. “This lapse of time is necessary to complete our work,” returned Doctor Ox. “The workmen, whom we have had to choose in Quiquendone, are not very expeditious.” [Illustration: “The workmen, whom we have had to choose in Quiquendone, are not very expeditious.”] “How not expeditious?” cried the burgomaster, who seemed to take the remark as personally offensive. “No, Monsieur Van Tricasse,” replied Doctor Ox obstinately. “A French workman would do in a day what it takes ten of your workmen to do; you know, they are regular Flemings!” “Flemings!” cried the counsellor, whose fingers closed together. “In what sense, sir, do you use that word?” “Why, in the amiable sense in which everybody uses it,” replied Doctor Ox, smiling. “Ah, but doctor,” said the burgomaster, pacing up and down the room, “I don’t like these insinuations. The workmen of Quiquendone are as efficient as those of any other town in the world, you must know; and we shall go neither to Paris nor London for our models! As for your project, I beg you to hasten its execution. Our streets have been unpaved for the putting down of your conduit-pipes, and it is a hindrance to traffic. Our trade will begin to suffer, and I, being the responsible authority, do not propose to incur reproaches which will be but too just.” Worthy burgomaster! He spoke of trade, of traffic, and the wonder was that those words, to which he was quite unaccustomed, did not scorch his lips. What could be passing in his mind? “Besides,” added Niklausse, “the town cannot be deprived of light much longer.” “But,” urged Doctor Ox, “a town which has been un-lighted for eight or nine hundred years—” “All the more necessary is it,” replied the burgomaster, emphasizing his words. “Times alter, manners alter! The world advances, and we do not wish to remain behind. We desire our streets to be lighted within a month, or you must pay a large indemnity for each day of delay; and what would happen if, amid the darkness, some affray should take place?”