"Monsieur Delarue's letter is going to inform us," said Dorothy.
So the moment had come. They gathered more closely round the notary. A certain gravity mingled with the gayety on the young faces; and it grew deeper when Maître Delarue displayed before the eyes of all one of those large square envelopes which formerly one made oneself out of a thick sheet of paper. It was discolored with that peculiar shine which only the lapse of time can give to paper. It was sealed with five seals, once upon a time red perhaps, but now of a grayish violet seamed by a thousand little cracks like a network of wrinkles. In the left-hand corner at the top, the formula of transmission must have been renewed several times, traced afresh with ink by the successors of the scrivener Barbier.
"The seals are quite intact," said Monsieur Delarue. "You can even manage to make out the three Latin words of the motto."
"In robore fortuna," said Dorothy.
"Ah, you know?" said the notary, surprised.
"Yes, Monsieur Delarue, yes, they are the same as those engraved on the gold medals, and those I discovered just now, half rubbed out, under the face of the clock."
"We have here an indisputable connection," said the notary, "which draws together the different parts of the affair and confers on it an authenticity——"
"Open the letter—open it, Monsieur Delarue," said Dorothy impatiently.
Three of the seals were broken; the envelope was unfolded. It contained a large sheet of parchment, broken into four pieces which separated and had to be put together again.
From top to bottom and on both sides the sheet of parchment was covered with large handwriting with bold down-strokes, which had evidently been written in indelible ink. The lines almost touched and the letters were so close together that the whole had the appearance of an old printed page in a very large type.