Among his papers was found a sheet in his handwriting, in which he did not speak of the book snatched from the flames, but gave a summary of the earlier chapters. It referred to a secret which was known to the Kings of England, which was lost by them when the crown passed from the poor fool, Henry VI., to the Duke of York, which was revealed to Charles VII., King of France, by Joan of Arc and which, becoming a State secret, was handed down from sovereign to sovereign by means of a letter, sealed anew on each occasion, which was found in the deceased monarch’s death-bed with this superscription: “For the King of France.” This secret concerned the existence and described the whereabouts of a tremendous treasure, belonging to the kings, which increased in dimensions from century to century. One hundred and fourteen years later, Louis XVI., then a prisoner in the Temple, took aside one of the officers whose duty it was to guard the royal family, and asked: “Monsieur, had you not an ancestor who served as a captain under my predecessor, the Great King?” “Yes, sire.” “Well, could you be relied upon—could you be relied upon—” He hesitated. The officer completed the sentence: “Not to betray your Majesty! Oh, sire!—” “Then listen to me.” He took from his pocket a little book of which he tore out one of the last pages. But, altering his mind: “No, I had better copy it—” He seized a large sheet of paper and tore it in such a way as to leave only a small rectangular space, on which he copied five lines of dots, letters and figures from the printed page. Then, after burning the latter, he folded the manuscript sheet in four, sealed it with red wax, and gave it to the officer. “Monsieur, after my death, you must hand this to the Queen and say to her, ‘From the King, madame—for Your Majesty and for your son.’ If she does not understand—” “If she does not understand, sire—” “You must add, ‘It concerns the secret, the secret of the Needle.’ The Queen will understand.” When he had finished speaking, he flung the book into the embers glowing on the hearth. He ascended the scaffold on the 21st of January. It took the officer several months, in consequence of the removal of the Queen to the Conciergerie, before he could fulfil the mission with which he was entrusted. At last, by dint of cunning intrigues, he succeeded, one day, in finding himself in the presence of Marie Antoinette. Speaking so that she could just hear him, he said: “Madame, from the late King, your husband, for Your Majesty and your son.” And he gave her the sealed letter. She satisfied herself that the jailers could not see her, broke the seals, appeared surprised at the sight of those undecipherable lines and then, all at once, seemed to understand. She smiled bitterly and the officer caught the words: “Why so late?”