“But you are afraid—out with it!” the doctor interrupted me, with a laugh. “Well, to ease your mind, I will try the temperature of the liquid before you place your hands in it.”
“And what is about the temperature of molten metal?”
“Close on one thousand six hundred degrees.”
“One thousand six hundred degrees?” I exclaimed. “Oh! the experiment must be splendid: I consent.”
On the day appointed by M. Boutigny, we proceeded to Mr. Davidson’s foundry at La Villette, after he had granted us permission to make the experiment.
I was strangely affected on entering this vast establishment; the deafening noise produced by the immense blasts, the flames escaping from the furnaces, the sparkling jets transported by powerful machines and running into gigantic moulds, the wiry, muscular workmen, blackened by smoke and dust,—all this medley of men and things produced a strange and rather solemn effect upon me.
The manager came up to us and pointed out the furnace to which we were to proceed for our experiment.
While waiting for a jet of metal to run, we remained for a few moments in silence near the furnace; then we commenced the following conversation, which was certainly not of a nature to encourage me:
“I would only repeat this experiment, which I am not fond of, for your sake,” M. Boutigny said; “I confess that, though I am morally sure of the result, I always feel an emotion which I cannot dispel.”
“If that be the case,” I replied, “suppose we go? I will believe your word.”