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had just attained his majority, and the manager of the factory had written him a strictly polite letter asking him to call in at the office. Laurent found his guardian just as he had left him four years before, at least in respect to his manner, his bearing and his greeting. His smooth, impassive face was slightly wrinkled, his hair had become white, and he held his commanding head a little less high. On the desk, which the unlucky Swiss Family Robinson had disgraced years before, were placed a sheaf of banknotes and a sheet of paper covered with figures aligned in columns.

The manufacturer, always the man of business, hardly replied to the "Good morning, cousin!" which Laurent was trying to make as respectful and affectionate as possible.

"Kindly take notice of this sheet of paper and verify the exactitude of the figures. It sets forth my account of my stewardship; on the one hand your income; on the other, the expenses of your maintenance and education. You will concede that I have abstained, as far as possible, from making any inroads upon your little capital. When you have examined it, if you are