Opening a drawer he took out a sheet of paper, at the head of which were written the words: Powder Formula. No. I. Then followed lines of abbreviated words, with figures.
“Leave it in this drawer; I do not need it just now. You will give it me this evening, after the conference. Then I will write to your father and send on the paper to him.”
“As you please,” said Marcel.
Placing back the paper he shut the drawer. Uncle Graff left the room saying—
“I am going to see Cardez; if you want me you will find me with him.”
Marcel, left all alone, walked up and down the laboratory, then drew near the open window, and looked out on to the river flowing beneath. A fisherman was sitting there in a boat, moored in the middle of the stream, engaged in throwing baked grain as bait into the water all around him. A large straw hat covered his head, whilst the wind blew out his grey smock-frock into the form of a balloon. He did not appear even to see Marcel, but filled his pipe with tobacco, lit it, and began to throw out his line, at the end of which was a ball of worms as bait. After a few moments a bite came, he struck adroitly, and landed a small silver-bellied fish in the boat. Marcel, interested, sat and watched from the window-ledge. After watching for a good quarter of an hour, the fisher, in his smock-frock, who, by the way, appeared to have the best of luck, the door of the laboratory opened, and Baudoin appeared. He seemed embarrassed, but came straight up to his master, and said, in tones of seeming regret—
“Monsieur Marcel, there is some one at the porter’s lodge who is asking for you.”
“Who is it?”
Baudoin said, with a wry grimace—
“A kind of chambermaid.”