“I need not hide it from you,” said he, “that I look on it as a feather in my cap taking service, even for a short time, under your master. I have heard much about him; it is even said that his cleverness is so great that he knows Arabic and all the secrets of the East.” “You may well say that,” replied Brujon, pompously, “not only is he of one of the oldest families, but he has here—” and he tapped his empty forehead—“what all the others have not got. I, who know him so well, and whom he trusts, can speak of that.” “_Ma foi_!” said Lavenne, in an awed voice, “is it a fact, then, that he is an alchemist?” Brujon pursed out his lips as he closed the door of the dining-room, having shown the place to his companion. “It is not for me to say anything of his secrets, but I can tell you this, he is clever enough to put Monsieur Mesmer in his pocket.” “_Mon Dieu_! but he must be even a greater man than I thought, and to think that you have seen him at work, perhaps. Why, it would frighten me to death—and where does he do these wonderful things?” “Come here,” said Brujon. He led the way down the corridor, leading from the dining-room, paused at a door, took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and, choosing a key, opened the door. The lamp which he was carrying disclosed a room lined with shelves containing bottles, glass cupboards containing bottles and flasks stood in the corners, and in the centre, on a heavy bench-like table, were more bottles, some retorts, and a lamp. Heavy red curtains hung before the window. It was a chemist’s laboratory. “This is the room where my master works,” said Brujon, “he and I only have access to it. I am exceeding my duties, even, in showing it to you; though, indeed, he has never given me orders on that matter. Now you may see the truth of what I say—but never say that you have seen it.” “Oh, _mon Dieu_, no! The place frightens me. You see, I am not clever like you, Monsieur Brujon; indeed, all my schooling taught me was just to repeat the _Credo_, and to read a few words of print.” “Well, if it taught you also to hold your tongue,” replied the most inveterate gossip in Paris, “it has taught you enough to make you a good servant. Well, it is now time for bed. You know your duties, and should any noise awaken you in the night, your first thought will be of the plate under your keeping. You will give the alarm, call me and hold the thief should you be able to seize him. But I may tell you at once that there is little need of fear. All the doors are impossible to open, there are no windows on the ground floor, and there is always a watchman in the courtyard. Still, it is your duty to be on the _qui vive_.” “You may trust that I will do my duty, Monsieur Brujon; and now, where is your bedroom, so that, in the event of anything happening, I may call you?” “I will show you,” replied Brujon. He led the way downstairs and showed the room, which was situated off the same passage as that on which Lavenne’s opened.