“Can I not speak to her? Is she in a fit state to receive me?” “She is in great grief, but very calm. Graff will tell her that you are here.” The uncle left the room. Baradier drew his chair nearer the General’s, as though afraid the walls would hear what he was about to say. “Between you and myself—for Graff is too sentimental—is this a matter that concerns other countries?” “How can we tell, so long as we have not laid our hands on the culprits? Even if they are found, how can we throw light on that question? We can never hope for absolute certainty in this respect, as foreign agents always keep themselves aloof from direct responsibility, and disclaim all connection with abroad, if they are caught. We shall never get beyond probabilities. Our artillery material and explosives are at present, and will long remain, a matter of anxiety to rival Powers. Our armaments are well known, though our projectiles are continually being perfected. It is certain that the artillery which made use of the Trémont powder would have had an overwhelming advantage. Hence the attempt against the inventor, evidently.” “So you attach a great value to the formulæ discovered by the General?” “A very great value. Its possession would render our country an immense service.” Baradier became serious. Bowing his head, he continued resolutely— “I am a good patriot, General. I fought for France to the very last hour of the war. All the Baradier family, Lorraines from Metz, went into voluntary exile so as not to live in the midst of our conquerors. If my country needed my life, I would not hesitate to give it up. I will do more, I will risk my son’s life. If Marcel knows Trémont’s secret, I give you my oath you shall have the powder.” A flash of joy shone in the old soldier’s eyes. Stretching out his hand to Baradier, he exclaimed, in trembling tones—“Thank you. You are a brave soldier.” At this moment the door opened, and the General gave a sonorous hum, and regained his composure. Madame Baradier and Mademoiselle de Trémont entered the room, followed by Graff. Still slender and graceful, Madame Baradier now showed a few silver threads among the beautiful blonde tresses of her youth. But her frank look and smiling lips revealed the young girl beloved of Elias Lichtenbach. Mademoiselle de Trémont, wearing a blue convent dress, slender and dark-complexioned, showed in her countenance, overwhelmed with grief, the charming grace of her sixteen years. Without the slightest awkwardness or hesitation, she walked straight to her father’s friend. At the first words the old soldier addressed her, however, her eyes filled with tears, which silently flowed unheeded down her cheeks. She listened with eager satisfaction to the consoling words of praise, consecrated to him who had just disappeared, and the silent nod she gave from time to time seemed an acquiescence of resignation and grief, in the bitterness of life now beginning for her.