This evening he was seated in a small salon examining with minute care the plan for a machine at which he was working. On seeing Baudoin enter he placed the diagram on the table, looked at his visitor, and said— “You have just left?” “Yes, M. Marcel.” “You have seen the Minister?” “Yes. At the very first words I uttered he was all attention. He wishes to see you, and affirms that the lady in question is a spy of the most dangerous category, who has had the police on her tracks for the past six years. That woman must have a number of crimes on her conscience.” “That is not what I asked you,” said Marcel. “Are they going to take measures to keep a watch on Agostini and his companions? If so—” “The Minister told me that was the business of the Detective Department, and advised me to see Mr. Mayeur. I have just left him. Ah! he will not allow the affair to lag.” “Good!” The tinkling of a bell in the yard interrupted the conversation. It was the signal for dinner, which, from time immemorial, had thus been announced every evening, as is the custom in the provinces. Marcel took off his coat, and replaced it by another, after which he made his way to the salon. On entering, his father, Uncle Graff, the two young ladies, and Madame Baradier, were already waiting before passing into the dining-room. More comfort than luxury was evident everywhere; not the slightest sign of ostentation was manifest. Usually, dinner was the time when all the company related the events of the day. This evening one would have thought that nobody wished to speak. All the same, Graff, when the joint was brought on the table, risked the remark— “The Bourse has been firmer to-day.” “No great improvement!” growled Baradier. A deeper silence than before followed. But Uncle Graff had the patience of a Lorraine, and he continued after a while— “I have received a letter from Cardez, in which he says they have reached the second floor of the new building. The Assurance Company has paid the claim. After all, everything has turned out for the best.” “Are the workmen quiet now?” asked Madame Baradier. “Poor creatures! They were sorry for what they had done. But they were not responsible. It was the leaders of the strike! The deuce take them!” “Have they fixed upon a larger building-site for a new steam-engine?” asked Baradier, who forgot his bad temper as soon as business was on the tapis. “Father,” interrupted Marcel, “I should advise you to postpone this plan of yours. Something might happen which would cause the system of power employed in the works to be radically changed. Better wait a little.” “Mere idle fancies and whims! Some wild impracticable invention, I suppose.” “No,” replied the young man, with warmth. “No idle fancy at all! My dear Geneviève, it would cover your father’s name with glory, for it was he who had the idea of this invention first, and, indeed, if it is realizable, as I believe will be found to be the case, it will bear his name.”