Singular rumors were current at this time in Angoulême and L’Houmeau. It was said that David Séchard was ruining the firm of Cointet Brothers. Experiments had eaten up twenty thousand francs; and the result, said gossip, was wretchedly bad paper. Other manufacturers took fright at this, hugged themselves on their old-fashioned methods, and, being jealous of the Cointets, spread rumors of the approaching fall of that ambitious house. As for the tall Cointet, he set up the new machinery for making lengths of paper in a ribbon, and allowed people to believe that he was buying plant for David’s experiments. Then the cunning Cointet used David’s formula for pulp, while urging his partner to give his whole attention to the sizing process; and thousands of reams of the new paper were despatched to Métivier in Paris. When September arrived, the tall Cointet took David aside, and, learning that the latter meditated a crowning experiment, dissuaded him from further attempts. “Go to Marsac, my dear David, see your wife, and take a rest after your labors; we don’t want to ruin ourselves,” said Cointet in the friendliest way. “This great triumph of yours, after all, is only a starting-point. We shall wait now for awhile before trying any new experiments. To be fair! see what has come of them. We are not merely paper-makers, we are printers besides and bankers, and people say that you are ruining us.” David Séchard’s gesture of protest on behalf of his good faith was sublime in its simplicity. “Not that fifty thousand francs thrown into the Charente would ruin us,” said Cointet, in reply to mute protest, “but we do not wish to be obliged to pay cash for everything in consequence of slanders that shake our credit; _that_ would bring us to a standstill. We have reached the term fixed by our agreement, and we are bound on either side to think over our position.” “He is right,” thought David. He had forgotten the routine work of the business, thoroughly absorbed as he had been in experiments on a large scale.