“Mere accidents, my friend. Do not make them into general rules. The majority of people are virtuous because they have never had the opportunity of being rascals. But have no doubt that they would have been, and very successful ones, with the greatest ease. The human soul, Cesare, is a ground ready prepared for vice and crime. It is simply a question of what seed you intend to sow there. Very well! I am a sower, as you have said. I excel in growing the fruit of corruption. Young Marcel Baradier is now going to be my experiment field.” “Great good may it do him!” “Had he been content with the profession of a banker, or the business of a cotton manufacturer, nothing of what is now being prepared would have happened; he would have lived a happy, quiet life. But he has dabbled in chemistry, and that has spoiled everything.” The sun had sunk behind the hill, and the small room was quite dark. Sophia and Cesare could no longer distinguish one another. At last the young woman arose from her seat, and said— “Come, we have had sufficient philosophy. What does all that prove? They are nothing but mere words. Fortune does not come to those who speak, but to those who act.” CHAPTER II AFTER Baudoin had been a fortnight at the works, he was astonished to find that Marcel had passed from a state of perfect calm to one of extreme agitation. The young man, who spent the greater part of his time in the summer-house, either working or indulging in day-dreams, had suddenly begun to leave the laboratory after lunch, and did not return before night set in. A more significant fact was that Marcel’s appearance had changed as well as his habits. Instead of a country costume—soft felt hat and heavy shoes—a quiet, refined elegance now characterized him. The expression of his countenance, too, was far different from the one he had assumed previously; his eyes shone more brightly, even his voice sounded more vibrating. Baudoin thought, “There is a woman at the bottom of all this.” He had had experience when with the General de Trémont, and was well acquainted with that tension of the nerves which enters into the slightest movements. He knew the meaning of that satisfied little humming and that firm step on the floor, of conquering though feverish sound. There was a woman at the bottom of it, without the slightest doubt. Baudoin felt anxious. In that quiet country district, how had his master found the opportunity of falling into a passion? He instituted a discreet inquiry. He had made the acquaintance of the landlord of the Golden Lion, the principal hotel of Ars, a former cook, who had served in the Army, and proudly wore at his buttonhole, on Sundays, a blue and yellow ribbon, brought from Tonkin. Whilst drinking a bitter, Baudoin chatted with him, and listened to all the local gossip he retailed. He questioned him: Were there any strangers in the district? Did his hotel contain any fresh arrivals? Had any fair ladies been seen lately in the town?