My mother did her utmost to detain him where he was. She saw that the excitement of his narrative had greatly increased the symptoms of fever upon him, and she wished to tend and watch over him; but he was resolute in his determination, and left us, almost abruptly. Raper and myself went several times that evening to see him, but he would not receive us. The reply to our inquiries was, that he was deeply engaged, and could not be disturbed. I remember well how often during the night I arose from my bed to look out at the little window of the tollhouse, which was that of Herr Robert's room. A light burned there the whole night through, and more than once I could see his figure pass between it and the window. Poor old man!--was it that he was devoting the last few hours of his life to the weary task that had worn him to a very shadow? Towards daybreak I sank into a heavy sleep, from which I was suddenly awakened by Raper calling on me to get up and dress at once. “Herr Robert is dying!” said he, “and wishes to see you and speak with you. Be quick, for there is not a moment to lose.” I dressed myself as speedily as my trembling limbs would permit, and followed Raper down the stairs and into the street. My mother was already there, waiting for us, and we hurried along towards the toll-house without a word. The toll-keeper's wife beckoned to us impatiently as we came in sight, and we pressed eagerly on, and entered the little chamber where Herr Robert lay half-dressed upon his bed. He knew us, and took each of us by the hand as we came forward. His face was greatly flushed, and his eyes stared wildly, and his dry, cracked lips muttered frequently and fast. Several large packages of papers lay beside him, sealed and addressed, and to these he made a motion with his hand, as if he would speak of them. “Tell us of yourself, Herr Robert,” said my mother, in a kind voice, as she sat down beside him. “Do you feel any pain?” He seemed not to hear her, but muttered indistinctly to himself. Then, turning short round to me, he said,-- “I have forgotten the number of the house, but you can't mistake it. It is the only one with a stone balcony over the entrance gate. It was well enough known once. John Law's house,--the 'Rue Quincampoix.' The room looks to the back--and the safe--Who is listening to us?” I reassured him, and he went on:-- “The ingots were forged as if coming from the gold mines of Louisiana. D'Argenson knew the trick, and the Regent too. They it was who wrecked him,--they and Tencivi.” His eyes grew heavy, and his voice subsided to a mere murmur after this, and he seemed to fall off in a drowsy stupor. The whole of that day and the next he lingered on thus, breathing heavily, and at intervals seeming to endeavor to rally himself from the oppression of sleep; but in vain! Exhaustion was complete, and he passed away calmly, and so quietly that we did not mark the moment when he ceased to breathe.