"Do you see, uncle, how cleverly he returns to the charge?"
The clock in the neighbouring steeple struck eight.
"Eight o'clock!" cried Olivier. "The deuce! My master mason has been waiting for me for an hour. I've got to go, Gerald. I promised to be punctual,—an hour late is a good deal. Good night, uncle."
"You're going to work half the night, again," remarked the veteran, casting a meaning look at Gerald. "I shall wait up for you, though."
"No, no, uncle, go to bed. Tell Madame Barbançon to leave the key with the porter, and some matches in the kitchen. I won't wake you, I'll come in quietly."
"Good-bye, M. Gerald," said the veteran, taking the young duke's hand, and pressing it in a very significant manner, as if to remind him of his promise in regard to Olivier's promotion.
"Good-bye, commander," said Gerald, returning the pressure, and indicating by a gesture that he read the veteran's thought. "You will permit me to come and see you again, will you not?"
"It would give me great pleasure, you may be sure of that, M. Gerald."
"Yes, commander, for I judge you by myself. Good-bye. Come, Olivier, I will accompany you to the door of your master mason."
"I shall have the pleasure of your company a quarter of an hour longer, then. Good night, uncle."