Jack was able to see the interiors of the various workshops, the doors being set widely open on account of the heat; he saw rapid movements of arms and blackened faces; he saw machines in motion, first in shadow, and then with a red light playing over their polished surface.
Puffs of hot air, a smell of oil and of iron, accompanied by an impalpable black dust, a dust that was as sharp as needles and sparkled like diamonds,—all this Jack felt; but the peculiar characteristic of the place was a certain jarring, something like the effort of an enormous beast to shake off the chains that bound him in some subterranean dungeon.
They had now reached an old château of the time of the League.
“Here we are,” said Rondic; and addressing his brother, “Will you go up with us?”
“Indeed I will; I am, besides, by no means unwilling to see ‘the monkey’ once more, and to show him that I have become somebody and something.”
He pulled down his velvet vest, and glanced at his yellow boots and knapsack. Rondic made no remark, but seemed somewhat annoyed.
They passed through the low postern; on either side of the hall were small and badly lighted rooms, where clerks were very busy writing. In the inner room, a man with a stern and haughty face sat writing under a high window.
“Ah, it is you, Père Rondic!”
“Yes, sir; I come to present the new apprentice, and to thank you for—”
“This is the prodigy, then, is it? It seems, young man, that you have an absolute talent for mechanics. But, Rondic, he does not look very strong. Is he delicate?”