lighted to meet them, and began to say that he had
just come from Paris, Pierre asked himself if he had been dreaming.
However, an anxious glance which his brother cast at him convinced him
that he had been right. And then he not only felt ill at ease in presence
of that man whom he had never previously known to lie, but it seemed to
him that he was at last on the track of all he had feared, the formidable
mystery that he had for some time past felt brewing around him in the
little peaceful house.

When Guillaume, his sons and his brother reached home and entered the
large workroom overlooking Paris, it was so dark that they fancied nobody
was there.

"What! nobody in?" said Guillaume.

But in a somewhat low, quiet voice Francois answered out of the gloom:
"Why, yes, I'm here."

He had remained at his table, where he had worked the whole afternoon,
and as he could no longer read, he now sat in a dreamy mood with his head
resting on his hands, his eyes wandering over Paris, where night was
gradually falling. As his examination was now near at hand, he was living
in a state of severe mental strain.

"What, you are still working there!" said his father. "Why didn't you ask
for a lamp?"

"No, I wasn't working, I was looking at Paris," Francois slowly answered.
"It's singular how the night falls over it by degrees. The last district
that remained visible was the Montague Ste. Genevieve, the plateau of the
Pantheon, where all our knowledge and science have grown up. A sun-ray
still gilds the schools and libraries and laboratories, when the
low-lying districts of trade are already steeped in darkness. I won't say
that the planet has a particular partiality for us at the Ecole Normale,
but it's certain that its beams still linger on our roofs, when they are
to be seen nowhere else."

He began to laugh at his jest. Still one could see how ardent was his
faith in mental effort, how entirely he gave himself to mental labour,
which, in his opinion, could alone bring truth, establish justice and
create happiness.

Then came a short spell of silence. Paris sank more and more deeply into
the night, growing black and mysterious, till all at once sparks of light
began to appear.

"The lamps are being lighted," resumed Francois; "work is being resumed on
all sides."

Then Guillaume, who likewise had been dreaming, immersed in his fixed
idea, exclaimed: "Work, yes, no doubt! But for work to give a full
harvest it must be fer