Then taking a pebble between his index finger and bent thumb, as a boy plays at marbles, he projected it against one of the little sand-heaps. It scattered, and he jumped for joy.
“Blown to pieces! The bastion is blown to pieces! My explosive has destroyed everything at one blow!” he shouted, the light of triumph flashing in his eyes.
“You see,” said the director, addressing the Count d’Artigas. “The idea of his invention never leaves him.”
“And it will die with him,” affirmed the attendant.
“Couldn’t you, Gaydon, get him to talk about his fulgurator?” asked his chief.
“I will try, if you order me to do so, sir.”
“Well, I do order you, for I think it might interest the Count d’Artigas.”
“Certainly,” assented the Count, whose physiognomy betrayed no sign of the sentiments which were agitating him.
“I ought to warn you that I risk bringing on another fit,” observed Gaydon.
“You can drop the conversation when you consider it prudent. Tell Thomas Roch that a foreigner wishes to negotiate with him for the purchase of his fulgurator.”