"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." "My father’s? How can that be? He was always a poor man." "His own fault, Jean, when he had a treasure like this. You, I hope, will not be so foolish. It is yours, as I have said. Be so good as to take it away." "But why did not my father take it?"