“If your husband can work out the formula, he will certainly make a fortune more quickly than by printing; I am not surprised that he leaves the business to itself,” said Boniface, looking across the empty workshop, where Kolb, seated upon a wetting-board, was rubbing his bread with a clove of garlic; “but it would not suit our views to see this place in the hands of an energetic, pushing, ambitious competitor,” he continued, “and perhaps it might be possible to arrive at an understanding. Suppose, for instance, that you consented for a consideration to allow us to put in one of our own men to work your presses for our benefit, but nominally for you; the thing is sometimes done in Paris. We would find the fellow work enough to enable him to rent your place and pay you well, and yet make a profit for himself.” “It depends on the amount,” said Eve Séchard. “What is your offer?” she added, looking at Boniface to let him see that she understood his scheme perfectly well. “What is your own idea?” Jean Cointet put in briskly. “Three thousand francs for six months,” said she. “Why, my dear young lady, you were proposing to sell the place outright for twenty thousand francs,” said Boniface with much suavity. “The interest on twenty thousand francs is only twelve hundred francs per annum at six per cent.” For a moment Eve was thrown into confusion; she saw the need for discretion in matters of business. “You wish to use our presses and our name as well,” she said; “and, as I have already shown you, I can still do a little business. And then we pay rent to M. Séchard senior, who does not load us with presents.” After two hours of debate, Eve obtained two thousand francs for six months, one thousand to be paid in advance. When everything was concluded, the brothers informed her that they meant to put in Cérizet as lessee of the premises. In spite of herself, Eve started with surprise. “Isn’t it better to have somebody who knows the workshop?” asked the fat Cointet. Eve made no reply; she took leave of the brothers, vowing inwardly to look after Cérizet. “Well, here are our enemies in the place!” laughed David, when Eve brought out the papers for his signature at dinner-time. “Pshaw!” said she, “I will answer for Kolb and Marion; they alone would look after things. Besides, we shall be making an income of four thousand francs from the workshop, which only costs us money as it is; and looking forward, I see a year in which you may realize your hopes.” “You were born to be the wife of a scientific worker, as you said by the weir,” said David, grasping her hand tenderly. But though the Séchard household had money sufficient that winter, they were none the less subjected to Cérizet’s espionage, and all unconsciously became dependent upon Boniface Cointet.