“Exactly. ‘To my daughter, Desiré Godet and her heirs forever—’” he read. “6754-1755.”
“What?” gasped Desiré, crowding closer to look at the paper.
“This house and money; and here’s the missing deed with the will. I congratulate you—most heartily, children. This is evidently—a perfectly legal will—and the long lost deed; and since you are Godet survivors—the place and the money must belong to you.”
“Oh, Jack!” cried Desiré, throwing herself into his arms, “now you can go back to college, and nobody can ever take this house away from us. It is really our home, now, just as I always felt it was.” Desiré was sobbing in her delirium of joy.
“’N’ is all that money ours?” demanded René, staring at it with wide eyes.
“Guess it is, my boy,” replied the judge, adding to Jack, “And some of these are doubtless rare pieces—worth much more than their intrinsic value.”
“Then we can have an automobile,” pronounced René.
Everybody laughed, and the tension was somewhat relieved.
“Look, Jack,” said Desiré, “there are two of the numbers from that slip of paper that was in Father’s box.”
“What’s that?” inquired the judge, whirling around like a top.