Louis removed several piles of the large, heavy coins designated, and found an envelope sealed with black. Upon this envelope was written in bold characters: "_To My Dearly-beloved Son._" Just as Louis picked up the envelope some one knocked at the door, and remembering that he had told the porter to return, he had barely time to take out one of the coins and close the chest before that functionary entered. The porter examined the coin which the young man handed to him with quite as much surprise as curiosity, exclaiming, with a wondering air: "What a handsome gold piece! One would suppose it had just been coined. I never saw one like it before." "Go and pay the cabman with it!" "But how much is a big gold piece like this worth, monsieur?" "More than I owe. Go and get it changed, and pay the coachman." "Did your father leave many of these big gold pieces, M. Richard?" asked the porter, in a mysterious tone. "Who would have supposed that old man--" "Go!" thundered Louis, exasperated at the heartlessness of the question, "go and pay the coachman, and don't come back." The porter beat a hasty retreat, and Louis, to guard against further intrusion, locked the door and returned to the chest. Before opening his father's letter the young man, almost in spite of himself, gazed for a moment at the glittering treasure, but this time, though he reproached himself for the thought at such a moment, he remembered Mariette, and said to himself that one-fourth of the wealth that was lying there before him would assure his wife's comfort and independence for life. Then he tried to forget the cruel stratagem his father had resorted to, and even comforted himself with the thought that he should have secured the old man's consent to his marriage with Mariette eventually, and that, though he might not have confessed to the wealth he possessed, he would at least have provided comfortably for the young couple. The discovery of this treasure excited in Louis's breast none of that avaricious or revengeful joy that the heirs of misers often feel when they think of the cruel privations a parent's avarice has imposed upon them. On the contrary, it was with devout respect that the young man broke the seal of the letter which doubtless contained his aged father's last wishes. CHAPTER XII. A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE. This communication, dated about two months before, read as follows: * * * * * "MY BELOVED SON:--When you read these lines I shall have ceased to live. "You have always believed me to be poor; on the contrary, I leave you a large fortune accumulated by avarice. "I have been a miser. I do not deny it. On the contrary, I glory in the fact. "And these are my reasons: