“All the better! I myself am not staying here long. My business takes me back to Paris, and the idea of leaving her alone with a chamber-maid and a servant-girl whom I do not know makes me very anxious, that I will not deny. Is Ars always so quiet as at present?” “Always, at this time of the year. The season begins in June, and it is now only April. In a few months the hotels will be filled, and the roads overrun by all the stage waggons in the district. That is the time I shall choose for going away.” “You do not stay here the whole year round?” “No; I only call here at rare intervals. My home is at Paris; I am at Ars on business.” “Your works are very large?” “One of the largest in the department. My grandfather founded the industry. It is the cradle of our family and the source of our fortune. Accordingly, my father, who is a banker, could never make up his mind to give it up, although he has far greater interests in other enterprises.” “I see he has trusted to you the responsibility of managing the works.” “Oh no. My father is represented by a director. I am simply the master’s son, and interfere in no way with the weaving. Here I have a laboratory, in which I undertake chemical experiments. But all the people in this district will tell you that I am an amateur, anything but serious, and that I spend more money on experiments than my pretended discoveries will ever bring me.” As he spoke he laughed gaily. The handsome Italian joined, and said, in his sing-song voice— “Rich men’s eldest sons are always ill-judged. When one is wealthy it is extremely difficult to get one’s self considered as a serious worker. Because one has no need of money, people are only too ready to conclude that one is incapable of earning any. And yet, why should not a rich man be a genius?” “Ah, sir, then what would become of other poor wretches?” “So you pretend, yourself,” said the Count, with a graceful wave of the hand, “to despise these investigations, though they probably interest you greatly?” “Almost as much as the experiments of a dyer. I have woollen stuffs steeped in coloured vats, and I try to fix the tints indelibly, so that the stuff sold in future will not become discoloured under the influence of either light, rain, or wind. The tapestries placed on furniture or walls, nowadays, are scarcely in their places than they have to be taken down—they are already quite faded. All the same, the stuffs of former times lasted, and exist even now. Our ancestors were in possession of dyeing processes superior to ours, and yet modern chemistry offers us mighty resources. That is what I am working at, sir. It is very commonplace, as you see.” “Evidently, it is not the philosopher’s stone! Still, all researches have their value. Have you obtained satisfactory results?” Marcel bowed in mock humility.