"And now, I place myself in spirit face to face with death, which may strike me to-day, to-morrow, or this very hour; and I declare, in this supreme and solemn moment, that I bless you from the depth of my soul, my dear beloved child, you who have given me joy and happiness only in this world. "Be a hundred times blessed, Louis, my good, affectionate son; be happy according to your merits, and my last wishes will be accomplished. "Your father, A. RICHARD. "Written and copied in Paris, February 25, 18--" CHAPTER XIII. Louis was deeply moved by the reading of this singular testament, and wept long as he reflected on the eccentricities of his beloved father. The day was drawing to a close, when he was finally aroused from his grief by a knock at his door and the well known voice of Florestan de Saint-Herem. Quickly unbolting the door of the gloomy attic chamber, he found himself in his friend's arms, who cried sympathetically: "Louis! my poor Louis! I know all. The _concierge_ has just told me of your father's death. Ah! what a cruel, frightful accident!" "Bead this, Florestan," said Louis, with tears in his eyes, giving his friend the testament left by his father, "and you will understand my bitter grief." Saint-Herem took the paper and, seating himself by the window, read it to the end. "Do you think I can now blame his avarice?" asked Louis, when his friend had finished. "Was not his only aim to enrich me, to place me in a position to gain more wealth, or to make a generous use of the possessions he left me? He imposed the hardest privations on himself that he might hoard up treasures for me!" "Nothing surprises me on the part of a miser," returned Florestan. "They are capable of great things--and this applies to all who are a prey to that powerful and prolific passion." "Don't exaggerate, Florestan." "This may seem a paradox to you, but there is nothing more true. We have always been stupidly unjust to misers," went on Florestan, with growing enthusiasm. "The genius and zeal they display in inventing inconceivable, impossible economies is prodigious. Altars should be raised in their honor! Thanks to their wise, obstinate parsimony, they possess a wonderful knack of turning everything into gold; careful saving of matches, picking up stray pins, a centime carefully invested; in fact, the most trifling of economies bring in returns. And yet, the world denies the existence of alchemists, the inventors of the philosophical stone! Once more, I repeat it, do they not turn into gold what is nothing in other hands!" "You are right enough on that score," laughed Louis.