But she did not realise the calamity of her father’s tragedy—­a tragedy at once sublime and miserable.  To the people of Douai he was not a scientific genius wrestling with Nature for her hidden mysteries, but a wicked old spendthrift, greedy like a miser for the Philosopher’s Stone.  Everybody in Douai, from the aristocracy to the bourgeoisie to the people, knew all about old Claes, “the alchemist.”  His home was called the “Devil’s House.”  People pointed at him, shouted after him in the street.  Lemulquinier said that these were murmurs of applause for genius.

It happened that on this morning of Marguerite’s return, Balthazar and Lemulquinier sat down on a bench in the Place Saint-Jacques to rest in the sun.  Some children passing to school saw the two old men, talked about them, laughed together, and presently approached.  One of them, who carried a basket, and was eating a piece of bread and butter, said to Lemulquinier:  “Is it true you make diamonds and pearls?”

Lemulquinier patted the urchin’s cheek.

“Yes, little fellow, it is true,” he said.  “Stick to your books, get knowledge, and perhaps we will give you some.”

They began to crowd round, and became more daring.

“You should show respect to a great man,” said Lemulquinier.  At this the children laughed aloud, and began to shout:  “Sorcerers!  Old sorcerers!” Lemulquinier sprang up with his stick raised, and the children, beating a retreat, gathered up mud and stones.  A workman, seeing Lemulquinier making for the children with a stick, came to their rescue with the dangerous cry:  “Down with sorcerers!”

Thus emboldened, the children made a savage attack upon the two old men with a shower of stones.  At this moment Emmanuel came upon the scene.  He was too late.  Claes had been suddenly jerked from the ideal world in which he theorised and toiled into the real world of men.  The shock was too much for him; he sank into the arms of Lemulquinier, paralysed.

He lived in this condition for some time, expressing all his affection and gratitude to Marguerite by pressing her hand with his cold fingers.  She refurnished the house, and surrounded him with comforts.  His children were affectionate to him.  They came and sat by his bedside, and took their meals in his room.  His great happiness was listening to Emmanuel’s reading of the newspapers.

One night he became very much worse, and the doctor was summoned in haste.  The stricken man made violent efforts to speak.  His lips trembled, but no sound issued.  His eyes were on fire with the thoughts he could not utter.  His face was haggard with agony.  Drops of perspiration oozed out of his forehead.  His hands twitched convulsively in the despair of his mind.

On the following morning his children saluted him with deepest and most lingering love, knowing that the last hour was at hand.  His face did not light; he made none of his usual responses to their tender affection.  Pierquin signalled to Emmanuel, and he broke the wrapper of the newspaper, and was about to read aloud in order to distract Claes, when his eyes were arrested by the heading: