At last a tall, thin, red-bearded young man walked into the room: he greeted Fandor-Vinson with:
"Good evening, Corporal. Our mutual friends have informed us that we might expect you. They have not arrived yet; but there is no need to wait for a regular introduction—what do you think?"
"You are too kind, Monsieur. A simple corporal like myself is very fortunate to find friends in a garrison town."
"To pass the time till our friends arrive, what do you say to visiting the workshops?... You will find it interesting ... and useful."
"That word 'useful' again!" thought Fandor. "Decidedly there is business afoot to-night!"
His guide expanded.
"In Paris they despise provincial industries! They pretend to believe that no good work is done—can be done—in country districts.... It is a mistaken notion! Examine our machines!"
The red-bearded young man ushered Fandor into the workshops. They were extensive, spacious.
"Here is the machine which prints off The Beacon of Verdun!" he explained. "You can see for yourself that it is the latest model! Do you know anything about the working of these machines?"
Fandor could hardly restrain his laughter.