of the plant were in harmony with the proportions of the flower, whose
seven colors were distinguishable from each other with the clearly
defined brilliancy which formerly gave such fabulous value to these
dazzling plants.

"Here you have at least thirty or forty thousand francs' worth of
tulips," said the notary, looking alternately at Madame Claes and at the
many-colored pyramid. The former was too enthusiastic over the beauty
of the flowers, which the setting sun was just then transforming into
jewels, to observe the meaning of the notary's words.

"What good do they do you?" continued Pierquin, addressing Balthazar;
"you ought to sell them."

"Bah! am I in want of money?" replied Claes, in the tone of a man to
whom forty thousand francs was a matter of no consequence.

There was a moment's silence, during which the children made many
exclamations.

"See this one, mamma!"

"Oh! here's a beauty!"

"Tell me the name of that one!"

"What a gulf for human reason to sound!" cried Balthazar, raising
his hands and clasping them with a gesture of despair. "A compound of
hydrogen and oxygen gives off, according to their relative proportions,
under the same conditions and by the same principle, these manifold
colors, each of which constitutes a distinct result."

His wife heard the words of his proposition, but it was uttered so
rapidly that she did not seize its exact meaning; and Balthazar, as
if remembering that she had studied his favorite science, made her a
mysterious sign, saying,--

"You do not yet understand me, but you will."

Then he apparently fell back into the absorbed meditation now habitual
to him.

"No, I am sure you do not understand him," said Pierquin, taking his
coffee from Marguerite's hand. "The Ethiopian can't change his skin, nor
the leopard his spots," he whispered to Madame Claes. "Have the goodness
to remonstrate with him later; the devil himself couldn't draw him out
of his cogitation now; he is in it for to-day, at any rate."

So saying, he bade good-bye to Claes, who pretended not to hear him,
kissed little Jean in his mother's arms, and retired with a low bow.

When the street-door clanged behind him, Balthazar caught his wife round
the waist, and put an end to the uneasiness his feigned reverie was
causing her by whispering in her ear,--

"I knew how to get rid of him."

Madame Claes turned her face to her husband, not ashamed to let him
see the tears of happiness that fil