"Did your father leave you many of these pretty coins, Monsieur Louis?" queried the man in a mysterious whisper. "Who would have believed that the poor old man—"
"Go!" cried Louis, irritated at the cynicism of this question. "Pay the coachman, and don't let me see you again."
The man withdrew without another word; and, having bolted the door to save himself from further intrusion, the miser's son returned to the chest. For a moment he stood contemplating the dazzling treasure before him, and though he reproached himself for thinking of his own happiness in that terrible hour, he could not help feeling a thrill of delight at the thought that one-fourth that sum would insure comfort and independence to his Mariette for a whole lifetime.
Then he tried to forget the cruel stratagem employed by his father toward the poor girl, and even succeeded in convincing himself that he would have obtained his consent to their union; and that, though he might not have admitted his wealth, he would at least have amply provided for them.
The discovery of these riches did not inspire him with that covetous, revengeful joy usually experienced by the heirs of a miser, when they remember the cruel privations to which they were subjected through the avarice of the owner; it was, on the contrary, with a feeling of touching pious respect, and with a hand trembling with emotion, that he unfolded the sheet containing the last wishes of his beloved father.
CHAPTER XII.
The testament had been written two months previous and was in these terms:
"MY BELOVED SON:"
"When you read these lines I shall have ceased to live."
"You have always believed me poor; but I leave you an immense fortune accumulated by my avarice.