Capìtolo 94

"Your father is still above ground," suggested Petit-Claud; "he is in
no hurry to leave his vines."

"Do you think that I am counting on my father's death?" returned
David. "I am on the track of a trade secret, the secret of making a
sheet of paper as strong as Dutch paper, without a thread of cotton in
it, and at a cost of fifty per cent less than cotton pulp."

"There is a fortune in that!" exclaimed Petit-Claud. He knew now what
the tall Cointet meant.

"A large fortune, my friend, for in ten years' time the demand for
paper will be ten times larger than it is to-day. Journalism will be
the craze of our day."

"Nobody knows your secret?"

"Nobody except my wife."

"You have not told any one what you mean to do--the Cointets, for
example?"

"I did say something about it, but in general terms, I think."

A sudden spark of generosity flashed through Petit-Claud's rancorous
soul; he tried to reconcile Sechard's interests with the Cointet's
projects and his own.

"Listen, David, we are old schoolfellows, you and I; I will fight your