Instead
of stables and outhouses, there was a conservatory attached to
the building on one side, and a low, long room, built of wood,
gayly painted, on the other. One of the windows of this room was
left uncurtained and through it could be seen, on a sort of
dresser inside, bottles filled with strangely-colored liquids
oddly-shaped utensils of brass and copper, one end of a large
furnace, and other objects, which plainly proclaimed that the
apartment was used as a chemical laboratory.
"Think of our bride's brother amusing himself in such a place as
that with cooking drugs in saucepans," muttered Monsieur Justin,
peeping into the room. "I am the least particular man in the
universe, but I must say I wish we were not going to be connected
by marriage with an amateur apothecary. Pah! I can smell the
place through the window."
With these words Monsieur Justin turned his back on the
laboratory in disgust, and sauntered toward the cliffs
overhanging the river.
Leaving the garden attached to the house, he ascended some gently
rising ground by a winding path. Arrived at the summit, the whole
view of the Seine, with its lovely green islands, its banks
fringed with trees, its gliding boats, and little scattered
water-side cottages, opened before him. Westward, where the level
country appeared beyond the further bank of the river, the
landscape was all aglow with the crimson of the setting sun.
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