son. You recollect Rantaine's letter. I showed it
to you. Very well; I've got the bank-notes. Now we can buy some oak and
fir, and go to work at carpentering. Look you! Do you remember the
weather of three days ago? What a hurricane of wind and rain! Gilliatt
endured all that upon the Douvres. That didn't prevent his taking the
wreck to pieces, as I might take my watch. Thanks to him, I am on my
legs again. Old 'Lethierry's galley' is going to run again, ladies and
gentlemen. A nut-shell with a couple of wheels and a funnel. I always
had that idea. I used to say to myself, one day I will do it. That was a
good long time back. It was an idea that came in my head at Paris, at
the coffee-house at the corner of the Rue Christine and the Rue
Dauphine, when I was reading a paper which had an account of it. Do you
know that Gilliatt would think nothing of putting the machine at Marly
in his pocket, and walking about with it? He is wrought-iron, that man;
tempered steel, a mariner of invaluable qualities, an excellent smith,
an extraordinary fellow, more astonishing than the Prince of Hohenlohe.
That is what I call a man with brains. We are children by the side of
him. Sea-wolves we may think ourselves; but the sea-lion is there.
Hurrah for Gilliatt! I do not know how he has done it; but certainly he
must have been the devil. And how can I do other than give him
Deruchette."

For some minutes Deruchette had been in the room. She had not spoken or
moved since she entered. She had glided in like a shadow, had sat down
almost unperceived behind Mess Lethierry, who stood before her,
loquacious, stormy, joyful, abounding in gestures, and talking in a loud
voice. A little while after her another silent apparition had appeared.
A man attired in black, with a white cravat, holding his hat in his
hand, stood in the doorway. There were now several candles among the
group, which had gradually increased in number. These lights were near
the man attired in black. His profile and youthful and pleasing
complexion showed itself against the dark background with the clearness
of an engraving on a medal. He leaned with his shoulder against the
framework of the door, and held his left hand to his forehead, an
attitude of unconscious grace, which contrasted the breadth of his
forehead with the smallness of his hand. There was an expression of
anguish in his contracted lips, as he looked on and listened with
profound attention. The standers-by havin