He opened the chest and took up the contents. Of the absence of mind which usually disturbed him nothing was to be observed: he looked round with sharp eyes, as if he were searching the dark words of a philosopher.
"Very remarkable," he exclaimed. "Only one thing surprises me. Has the chest been cleaned out?"
"No," replied Werner, irritably.
"The three companions of a century's repose are wanting--dust, cobwebs, and grubs; yet there ought to have been something on the inside of the lid or on the bottom, for the chest has crevices which allow of the entrance of insects."
He rummaged again, and examined the bottom.
"Under a splinter of wood there hangs a bit of paper."
He drew out a tiny piece of paper, and a deep shadow passed over his noble features.
"Dear friend, compose yourself, and be prepared for an unwelcome discovery. On this fragment there are only six printed words, but they are the characters of our time: it is a piece of one of our newspapers, and one of the six words is a name well known in the politics of our day."
He laid the bit of paper on the table. Werner stared at it without saying a word; his countenance was changed; it seemed as if one hour had done the work of twenty years of care.
"The things were unpacked by me and again put back; it is possible that the paper may have fallen in."