“You are very polite, sir, but you wish to take advantage of my vanity. Inventors always like to speak of their investigations, you are thinking; and I wish to repay this gentleman for the kindness he has shown my sister. But it would doubtless serve you right if I bored you with my discoveries, took your curiosity seriously, and showed you my samples.” The Italian bent down his head, and, in contrite tones, said— “I am indeed sorry you imagined I was not sincere. All you have told me interests me greatly. Doubtless I am not so frivolous as your compatriots, and since you appear to defy me examining your results, with satisfaction to myself, I now ask you to have the kindness to show me them, unless you were joking, in which case I should not have understood you, as I do not always seize all the finesse of your language. In which case I must ask you to pardon me.” “Indeed, I was not jesting; I was perfectly serious,” said Marcel, gaily. “I still believe you will be punished for your curiosity. But since you insist, follow me; I will show you my laboratory.” “Many thanks!” exclaimed Cesare. “I was afraid I should vex you.” “In what way? You would believe in the most marvellous things, did I not show you my poor results. Take care not to soil yourself; everything here is not perfectly clean.” Opening the door of the summer-house, he introduced the Count into the panelled room, leading to the laboratory, and which he used as a workroom. A blush mounted to Cesare’s temples. He looked eagerly around. On a Louis XVI. bureau, leaning against the wall, were scattered some papers covered with figures. A half-opened drawer exhibited boxes of different sizes and colours, carefully labelled. A massive table supported wide-mouthed jars, on the rough glass of which could be read the indications: sulphuric acid, nitro-benzine, picric acid, and a whole series of chlorates. The Italian, pointing to the table, said— “Ah! Here are some chemicals you do not make use of for your dyes!” “No,” said Marcel, evasively; “those are for something else.” And, as his visitor drew near, stretching out his hand towards one of the wide-mouthed jars— “Do not touch these jars—they are dangerous. If, by any chance, you were to upset the contents, both yourself and myself might find ourselves in a very disagreeable position. Come this way!” Opening the door of the laboratory, he bade him take a seat in the alchemist’s armchair, by the window, as he said— “Here you may smoke, if you like, without danger; there is nothing explosive here.” “Whilst in the next room?” asked the Italian, carelessly. “In the next room, if you threw down a match in the wrong place, you might explode the whole works!” “Diavolo! Then I will stop smoking even here, my dear sir, for I have no wish to leave the place by way of the roof.”