“The villain is plotting something here, and the play must not be interrupted at the very moment the principal character is about to enter on the stage. What about the beautiful lady of the Cavée and her pretended brother? And all these rascals who are just now doing their best to ruin the works of Baradier and Graff? Do you not think of them? Should we let them know that the whole affair is over and their plot discovered?” “But we cannot remain inactive spectators in all this?” “Spectators, yes, for the moment. Inactive, never! I did not come from Paris to Ars simply for the purpose of breaking stones on the road. I am engaged in my profession, and I intend the whole affair to be successful.” “But can I not, at least, warn M. Marcel?” “Under no pretext! His first impulse would be to have a frightful scene with his lady-love, and everything would be ruined. In the name of Heaven, let us keep those who are under the influence of passion out of our confidence! From them you may expect nothing but the most utter folly!” “But suppose Marcel falls into some trap or other?” “Have no fear for him. He will come out of it all right. For my part, I intend to shadow our man, and shall not let him give me the slip until I have everything necessary for giving him up to the magistrate in Paris, who is extremely mortified at his failure in this affair. Do you agree?” “I must do so, I suppose.” “Then we will each attend to our own business.” They shook hands, and separated in the darkness of the night. The illuminated inn rang with shouts and exclamations, alternating with the cadence of mugs of beer, as they struck the wooden tables. Away in the distance the factory raised its sombre bulk under the star-lit sky. At the very moment Baudoin passed in front of the concierge’s room, the latter stopped him, and, in joyful tones, said— “M. Graff has just arrived!” Uncle Graff, uneasy at what Cardez had telephoned, had not hesitated, but had left Baradier to continue an important operation at the Bourse on the shares of the Explosives Company, and, taking the train, had made straight for the works. Marcel, who was taking a walk by the riverside, had seen the worthy uncle come along the flower-beds, and had rushed joyfully forward to meet him. “What! Is it you, Uncle Graff?” “Yes, my nephew, I wanted to see for myself what is taking place here. I have just had a talk with Cardez, and at present I know how matters stand. Now, let us speak of yourself. How are you getting along, and what are you doing? I don’t want to find fault, but you send us very little news. Your mother is anything but pleased, and said to me only last night, ‘He no longer thinks of us; he loves us no more.’” “I! Not think of you all!” said Marcel.