As he beckoned to a tall, slender boy who sat at a desk opposite the foreman smiled kindly down at Pierre. "Henri," he continued when the employee approached, "I want you to show this young silk-raising friend of ours, Monsieur Bretton, how we sort cocoons and reel them off. Tell him everything you can, for he is a grower and has the right to know." "Mais, oui, avec beaucoup de plaisir," answered the boy. "I will do my best." He bowed to the foreman, who, after shaking Pierre by the hand, turned away. "Now Monsieur Bretton----" "My name is Pierre. No one ever called me Monsieur Bretton before, and I do not like it," protested Pierre smiling. "I am but a boy like yourself. Please call me by my first name--if you do not mind." Henri beamed on him. "I should like it much better," he replied cordially. "And I am Henri St. Amant. Now it is all understood, is it not? Shall we begin then our journey through the filature? We will go into the sorting rooms first, where the cocoons that are sent to us are classified. Most of them have already been cured, or baked, for the majority of our customers do that for us. When they do not we have to expose the cocoons in our own ovens." "Don't most of your cocoons come to you sorted?" questioned Pierre. "Most of them are roughly classified," nodded Henri. "But the grading must be much more finely done. Only experts can sort cocoons thoroughly." [Illustration: HE LED THE WAY INTO A LONG ROOM] As he spoke he led the way into a long room, where on every hand girls were moving in and out among heaps of cocoons that were either piled high on tables or massed upon squares of canvas on the floor. The room and everything in it was spotless. "We try to keep the cocoons from getting soiled, you see," explained Henri. "Is the sorting done by girls?" questioned Pierre, astonished.