Bondy looked at him very attentively. "And to whom did you give them, Mr. Machat?"
Machat flushed slightly. "Well, to poor people. I've let poor families occupy them. You see, I . . . I came to the conclusion that . . . well, in short, poor people have got them now, I mean."
Mr. Bondy kept his eyes on Machat like an examining magistrate. "Why, Mr. Machat?"
"I . . . I couldn't help it," Machat stammered. "It took me like that. Our lives should be holy, I mean."
The Chairman drummed nervously on the table. "And what about your family?"
Machat began to smile beatifically. "Oh, we're all of the same mind in that matter. Those poor people are such saints. Some of them are ill. My daughter is looking after them, you know. We've all changed so tremendously."
G. H. Bondy dropped his eyes. Machat's daughter Ellen, the fair-haired Ellen, with her seventy millions, tending the sick! Ellen, who was ready to be, who ought to be, who had half consented to be, Mrs. Bondy! Bondy bit his lip; things had turned out nicely!
"Mr. Machat," he began, in subdued tones, "I only wanted to know how the new Karburator was doing the heating on your premises."
