Paris in the Twentieth Century by Jules Verne Page B

his new employment but of this
Quinsonnas, whose very name alarmed him! What could such a man be? Some
individual who had grown old copying articles for the Ledger, balancing
accounts current for sixty years, subject to the fever of outstanding balances
and the frenzy of double entry! Michel marveled that the bookkeeper had not yet
been replaced by a machine.
    Yet
he felt an authentic joy at abandoning his calculating machine; he was proud
of having operated it so poorly; its pseudopiano aspect had repulsed him. Back
in his room, he soon found night coming on amid his reflections; he went to bed
but could not sleep; a sort of nightmare overwhelmed his brain. The Ledger
flashed before him, assuming fantastic dimensions; sometimes he felt he was
being pressed between the white pages like some dried plant in an herbal, or
else caught in the binding, which squeezed him in its brazen clamps. He got up
in great agitation, seized by an invincible desire to examine this formidable
device.
    "It's
all nonsense, " he told himself, "but at least I'll get to the bottom
of it. " He leaped out of bed, opened the door of his room, and groping,
stumbling, arms extended, eyes blinking, ventured downstairs into the offices.
    The
huge halls were dark and silent, where only a few hours ago the din of
finance—the clink of coins, the rustle of banknotes, the squeak of pens on
paper—had filled them with that sound so peculiar to banking houses. Michel
groped his way ahead, losing himself in the center of this labyrinth; he was
not too certain where the Ledger was situated but felt sure to find it; first
he would have to cross the hall of the machines—he recognized them in the
darkness. "They're sleeping, " he mused, "not calculating now.
" And he continued his reconnaissance, passing through the hall of the
giant safes, bumping into one at every step. Suddenly he felt the ground give
way under his feet, a dreadful noise filled his ears; all the doors slammed
shut; the bolts and locks slid into place, and deafening whistles were set off
up in the cornices; a sudden illumination filled the offices with garish
light, while Michel seemed to be sliding into some bottomless abyss.
    Dazed
and terrified, the moment the ground seemed to be solid under his feet, he
tried to run away. Impossible! He was a prisoner now, caught in an iron cage.
    At
that very moment, several men in various stages of undress rushed toward him.
    "A
thief!" exclaimed one.
    "We've
got him!" said another.
    "Go
call the police!"
    Michel
instantly recognized among these witnesses of his disaster Monsieur Casmodage
and Cousin Athanase.
    "You!"
exclaimed the former.
    "Him!"
exclaimed the latter.
    "You
were trying to crack my safe!"
    "That's
the last straw!"
    "He's
a sleepwalker, " someone said.
    For
the honor of young Dufrénoy, this notion rallied the majority of these men in
their nightshirts. The prisoner was uncaged, innocent victim of these ultramodern
safes, which protected themselves automatically. Stretching out his arms in
the dark, Michel had brushed against the Bond Safe, an apparatus of virginal
sensitivity; an alarm had immediately sounded and the floor opened by means of
a sliding panel, while the electric lights were automatically turned on at the
sound of the locking doors. The employees, wakened by powerful buzzers, rushed
toward the cage which had been lowered into the cellar.
    "That
will teach you, " the banker scolded the young man, "to wander around
where you have no business being!"



Shamed,
Michel found nothing to say in his defense.
    "Clever,
that machine!" exclaimed Athanase.
    "Still,
" interjected Monsieur Casmodage, "it won't be complete until the
thief is deposited in a police wagon and automatically driven to the Prefecture!"
    "As
a matter of fact, " Michel thought, "not until the machine itself
applies the article of the criminal code relative to trespass and
burglary!" But he kept this refinement to himself, and fled to his room
amid loud bursts of