He talked about the factory, about their business.

They had gained forty thousand francs each the last year; but it would be a different matter when the Press was at work.

"A rotary press, my little Frantz, rotary and dodecagonal, capable of printing a pattern in twelve to fifteen colors at a single turn of the wheel--red on pink, dark green on light green, without the least running together or absorption, without a line lapping over its neighbor, without any danger of one shade destroying or overshadowing another.

Do you understand that, little brother?
A machine that is an artist like a man.

It means a revolution in the wallpaper trade." "But," queried Frantz with some anxiety, "have you invented this Press of yours yet, or are you still hunting for it ?" "Invented!--perfected! To-morrow I will show you all my plans.