“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.”
He patiently examined Marcel’s fine samples of dyed wool. Apparently he was listening attentively, but his awakened intelligence, his piercing eyes under his half-closed eyelids were busied with that “something else,” of which Marcel had spoken so briefly. But nothing in the laboratory appeared to have any reference to that mysterious task, which demanded the manipulation of such dangerous products.
“I should like you,” said the Italian, “to give me some of these beautiful cloths, of such a rich and harmonious colouring. I will take them to my sister, who can embroider like a fairy. She will start some magnificent piece of work, which will sooth her solitude, and thus you will see the effect of your colours, artistically employed.”
“If you will permit me, I will bring them myself,” said Marcel.
“As you please. We are always at home about five o’clock. But do not delay, for I shall soon be leaving the neighbourhood.”
“Very well! To-morrow, if that will not inconvenience you?”
“Not at all. To-morrow, then.”
The Italian rose from his seat. He walked round the laboratory, and drew near the window overlooking the river.
“Ah! You are close to the water here. You might even fish from the window, without descending into the garden. Are you not afraid of some one entering the laboratory? A few marauders in a boat could enter the summer-house.”
“Who would ever think of such a thing!” exclaimed Marcel. “Besides, as is well known, there is nothing to take. And, then, the inhabitants of this district are very honest people.”