"MON DIEU!" he gasped; "the Orleanists!"
Rob nodded.
"Yes; they've worked up a rather pretty plot, haven't they?"
The President did not reply.  He was anxiously watching the Record and scribbling notes on a paper beside him.  His face was pale and his lips tightly compressed.
Finally he leaned back in his chair and asked:
"Can you reproduce this scene again?"
"Certainly, sir," answered the boy; "as often as you like."
"Will you remain here while I send for my minister of police?  It will require but a short time."
"Call him up, then.  I'm in something of a hurry myself, but now I've mixed up with this thing I'll see it through."
The President touched a bell and gave an order to his servant.  Then he turned to Rob and said, wonderingly:
"You are a boy!"
"That's true, Mr. President," was the answer; "but an American boy, you must remember.  That makes a big difference, I assure you."
The President bowed gravely.
"This is your invention?" he asked.
"No; I'm hardly equal to that.  But the inventor has made me a present of the Record, and it's the only one in the world."
"It is a marvel," remarked the President, thoughtfully.  "More!  It is a real miracle.  We are living in an age of wonders, my young friend."
"No one knows that better than myself, sir," replied Rob.  "But, tell me, can you trust your chief of police?"