Whatever were the charges against Dubois, he was hanged, and his fate should be a proof, says the writer already quoted, that a science producing unbounded riches is the greatest misfortune to those who are unfitted and unprepared to manage the dangerous trust with discretion. After the death of Flamel, many persons supposed that there must be doubtless some buried treasures in the house which he had inhabited during so many years, and in which all his Hermetical triumphs had been performed. This opinion existed in all its strength, at least in the mind of one individual, so late as the year 1576, when a stranger applied to the Prévôt of Paris, and stated that he had been entrusted by a deceased friend with certain sums for the restoration of Flamel’s house. As the building was exceedingly dilapidated, the magistrates availed themselves of the opportunity, and repairs were begun under the direction of delegates of the works of Saint-Jacques-de-la-Boucherie. The true object of the stranger soon became evident by the determination with which he sought to lay bare the whole foundations of the house, which was ransacked from top to bottom in search of the treasures it was supposed to conceal. No discoveries rewarded the zeal of the investigation, which ended in the sudden disappearance of the stranger, without paying for the operations which he had caused to be set on foot. As a completion to the history of Flamel, it may be entertaining to quote an extraordinary account which is seriously narrated by Paul Lucas in his “Journey through Asia Minor.” “I was at Bronosa, in Natolia, and going to take the air with a person of distinction, came to a little mosque, which was adorned with gardens and fountains for a public walk; we were quickly introduced into a cloister, where we found four dervishes, who received us with all imaginable civility, and desired us to partake of what they were eating. We were told, what we soon found to be true, that they were all persons of the greatest worth and learning; one of them, who said he was of Usbec Tartary, appeared to be more accomplished than the rest, and I believe verily he spoke all the principal languages of the world. After we had conversed in Turkish, he asked me if I could speak Latin, Spanish, or Italian. I told him, if he pleased, to speak to me in Italian; but he soon discovered by my accent that it was not my mother-tongue, and asked me frankly what country I came from? As soon as he knew that I was a native of France, he spoke to me in as good French as if he had been brought up at Paris. ‘How long, sir,’ said I, ‘did you stay in France?’ He replied he had never been there, but that he had a great inclination to undertake the journey.