as wretchedly bad paper. Other manufacturers took fright at
this, hugged themselves on their old-fashioned methods, and, being
jealous of the Cointets, spread rumors of the approaching fall of that
ambitious house. As for the tall Cointet, he set up the new machinery
for making lengths of paper in a ribbon, and allowed people to believe
that he was buying plant for David's experiments. Then the cunning
Cointet used David's formula for pulp, while urging his partner to give
his whole attention to the sizing process; and thousands of reams of the
new paper were despatched to Metivier in Paris.

When September arrived, the tall Cointet took David aside, and, learning
that the latter meditated a crowning experiment, dissuaded him from
further attempts.

"Go to Marsac, my dear David, see your wife, and take a rest after
your labors; we don't want to ruin ourselves," said Cointet in the
friendliest way. "This great triumph of yours, after all, is only a
starting-point. We shall wait now for awhile before trying any new
experiments. To be fair! see what has come of them. We are not merely
paper-makers, we are printers besides and bankers, and people say that
you are ruining us."

David Sechard's gesture of protest on behalf of his good faith was
sublime in its simplicity.

"Not that fifty thousand francs thrown into the Charente would ruin
us," said Cointet, in reply to mute protest, "but we do not wish to be
obliged to pay cash for everything in consequence of slanders that shake
our credit; _that_ would bring us to a standstill. We have reached the
term fixed by our agreement, and we are bound on either side to think
over our position."

"He is right," thought David. He had forgotten the routine work of the
business, thoroughly absorbed as he had been in experiments on a large
scale.

David went to Marsac. For the past six months he had gone over on
Saturday evening, returning again to L'Houmeau on Tuesday morning. Eve,
after much counsel from her father-in-law, had bought a house called the
Verberie, with three acres of land and a croft planted with vines, which
lay like a wedge in the old man's vineyard. Here, with her mother and
Marion, she lived a very frugal life, for five thousand francs of the
purchase money still remained unpaid. It was a charming little domain,
the prettiest bit of property in Marsac. The house, with a garden before
it and a yard at the back, was built of white tufa ornamented with
carvings,