"Oh, Monsieur, I will find a way, you may be sure. For one thing, Bonhomme the miser cannot claim his principal--that will not be due for two years. He can demand only the interest, a trifling sum, after all. Meanwhile the farm is there, and I shall have the mail contract and some tourists. In winter there will be lumbering or the trapping of which you speak. When I think of silver foxes at a thousand dollars apiece I see the debt vanish in a single season. Oh, we are not ready to die yet, by any means. A man of my size and strength can surely earn a living for the good mother and pay the debt off as well. Do not fear, Monsieur Gamache."
"I have no fear for you, Jean, no fear at all. But come with me--I have something to show you."
Michel led the way into the cabin, a habitation of a single long room, with a fireplace and the apparatus of a kitchen at one end, and the furniture of a bedroom at the other. It was the abode of a hunter and fisherman, yet everything was neat and proper as though cared for by the hand of a woman. On the walls were guns, fishing-rods, and snowshoes; the antlers of caribou, moose, and red deer; a snowy owl; a golden eagle; with various quaint decorations in shells and porcupine quills after the manner of the Montaignais Indians. On the floor were the tanned skins of bear, wolves, and lynxes; while over the fireplace, like the holy picture of a shrine, hung a water-colour by a famous artist--the portrait of a young and beautiful woman.
"There, Jean, my son, son of my old friend Toussaint Giroux, behold that picture! You have seen it before, but do you know who it is? No; but I will tell you. It is Mademoiselle Annette Duval, formerly of the parish of Chateau Richer, now Mother Sainte Anne of the Ursulines, the patron saint of this retreat, the holy angel who protects this place, who presides over this home. You have said that Mademoiselle Gabrielle is with her. Well, she is in good company, and will receive the best of advice. Have courage, my friend. Mother Sainte Anne is religious, without doubt, but something more than that. Beneath the robe of religion there beats still a woman's heart. I have not seen her in forty years, but I know that those eyes have the same gentle gaze, those lips the same lovely smile, and that day and night she prays for one whom once she loved."
Michel stood in silence for some moments as one who prayed, and then turned suddenly to Jean with a dramatic gesture and an air of cheerfulness, almost of gaiety.
"Well, Jean Baptiste, did I bring you here to worship at the shrine of a bygone generation? By no means. It was to solve the problem of your life, to untangle the complication of your affairs, to put you on the road to fortune, fame, and love. To that end I will reveal to you the secret which I have guarded for forty years. You look incredulous, my friend, but you shall see and believe. Remove that bearskin, if you please. Yes, the big one in the centre of the room. You see that trap-door with the iron ring? Take hold and lift. Heavy? Only a hundred pounds or so--a mere trifle for a man like you. Now let us descend. We will take one of the candles from the altar--no sacrilege in a cause like this. Come on, Jean. Now we can see better, as our eyes become accustomed to the gloom. Do you see the old iron box in the corner over there--there where it has rested so many years? It is ten years since I examined it, but there is no reason to think that it has been disturbed in all that time. Dieu, if it has been touched! But no, it is covered with the dust of many years. Lift the lid. You cannot? No, for it is locked. Do not be impatient--it was only a little joke of mine. Here is the key. Turn it once--twice. There, you have it. Open now, and look--look!"
"Mon Dieu!" said Jean, as he knelt by the box, and eagerly scanned the contents. "What a quantity of gold! Napoleons, sovereigns, and some Spanish coins of fifty years ago. A treasure, a great treasure! The box is not large, but heavy. Let us try. Sapré, but it weighs four or five hundred pounds, at the very least. It would take a strong man to carry it away, but a burglar might pick the lock. Lucky that there are no such people in St. Placide. Still, Monsieur Gamache, I recommend that you place this money in the bank at Quebec. It has been safe for forty years, but I should fear to leave it here for a single night. But what a treasure! I begin to believe that you are a sorcerer after all, and that these piles of yellow coin are devil's gold."
"Nothing of the sort!" exclaimed the old man, in high glee. "It is all good money of the mints of France and England, good yellow gold, receivable anywhere in the world. And what is more, Jean, my son, it belongs to you."
"To me, Monsieur Gamache? Impossible! Certainly not!"
"But yes, Jean, it was your father's, and now it is yours."