"I have some orders to give," said he, in a calm voice. "I must leave you, Monsieur Morand."
Morand held out his hand to Dixmer, and looked after him as he turned away.
"Poor Dixmer," said he, "I fear much that in all this you risk the most."
Dixmer returned to the manufactory, and having issued several orders, looked over the day-book, and distributed bread and fuel to the poor of the section, went home, and changed his working dress for his walking costume immediately on his arrival there.
An hour afterward Maurice Lindey, while deeply engaged in his readings and allocutions, was interrupted by the voice of his official, whispering in his ear,—
"Citizen Lindey, some one who, so he pretends at least, has something of importance to say to you, is waiting at your house."
Maurice, on entering, was much surprised at meeting the master-tanner, who had there comfortably installed himself, and was turning over the newspapers. All the way along he had questioned the domestic, who, of course, not knowing Dixmer, could afford him no clew to his identity.
On perceiving Dixmer, Maurice stopped at the threshold of the door, and blushed in spite of himself.
Dixmer smilingly arose, and held out his hand.
"What ails you? and what have you written to me?" he inquired of the young man. "Indeed, my dear Maurice, I feel it sensibly. You designate me as 'lukewarm and a false patriot.' Now as you dare not repeat these accusations to my face, acknowledge you wish to seek a quarrel with me."