On it had been replaced, for the final debate, drawings and models of the guns considered absolute after the novel Clemenceau Cannon.

On a pedestal-pillar stood a large clock, representing, with figures at the base, the forge of Vulcan; his Cyclops had hammered off six strokes a little preceding the servant's entrance.
"A quarter past six," she said, yawning.

"It will soon be light." She drew the curtains and pulled the cord which caused the shade to roll itself up in each of the three tall windows, before returning to the table where she had left her now useless lamp.

With a half-terrified look, she began to arrange the pretty little cannon, exquisitely modeled in nickel and bronze, and miniature shot, shell, chain-shot, etc., which she handled with a curiosity rather instinctive than studied.

In the midst of her mechanically executed work, she was startled by a gentle rapping on the plate-glass of a window.