papers besides."

"Then what are you investigating?" asked the hypocritical Boniface
Cointet.

Boniface's question slipped out smoothly and insinuatingly, and again
Eve's eyes implored her husband to give an answer that was no answer,
or to say nothing at all.

"I am trying to produce paper at fifty per cent less than the present
cost price," and he went. He did not see the glances exchanged between
the brothers. "That is an inventor, a man of his build cannot sit with
his hands before him.--Let us exploit him," said Boniface's eyes. "How
can we do it?" said Jean's.

Mme. Sechard spoke. "David treats me just in the same way," she said.
"If I show any curiosity, he feels suspicious of my name, no doubt,
and out comes that remark of his; it is only a formula, after all."

"If your husband can work out the formula, he will certainly make a
fortune more quickly than by printing; I am not surprised that he
leaves the business to itself," said Boniface, looking across the
empty workshop, where Kolb, seated upon a wetting-board, was rubbing
his bread with a clove of garlic; "but it would not suit our views to
see this place in the hands of an energetic, pushing, ambitious
competitor," he continued, "and perhaps it might be possible to arrive
at an understanding. Suppose, for instance, that you consented for a
consideration to allow us to put in one of our own men to work your
presses for our benefit, but nominally for you; the thing is sometimes
done in Paris. We would find the fellow work enough to enable him to