The Life of the Fly 



ister excelled in his exalted functions. We all 

 held him in high esteem. He was the work- 

 ers' minister, the man for the humble toiler. 



'I want to spend my last half-hour at 

 Avignon with you,' said my visitor, with a 

 smile. 'That will be a relief from the official 

 bowing and scraping.' 



Overcome by the honour paid me, I apolo- 

 gized for my costume — I was in my shirt- 

 sleeves — and especially for my lobster-claws, 

 which I had tried, for a moment, to hide be- 

 hind my back. 



'You have nothing to apologize for. I 

 came to see the worker. The working-man 

 never looks better than in his overall, with the 

 marks of his trade on him. Let us have a 

 talk. What are you doing just now?' 



I explained, in a few words, the object of 

 my researches; I showed my product; I exe- 

 cuted under the minister's eyes a little attempt 

 at printing in madder-red. The success of the 

 experiment and the simplicity of my appa- 

 ratus, in which an evaporating-dish, main- 

 tained at boiling-point under a glass funnel, 

 took the place of a steam-chamber, caused him 

 some surprise. 



'I will help you,' he said. 'What do you 

 want for your laboratory?' 

 458 



