"Perhaps you did not know that when I came back from the cellar, I dropped into my chamber? I put a drop of holy water into the Port; charm against charm, and he is fallen." "That's splendid! But what shall we do with him, now that we have him in our power?" "What is done with demons in Scripture? The Saviour throws them into the sea." "The sea is a long way from here." "But, you big baby, the public wells are just by!" "And what will be said to-morrow, when the body is found?" "Nothing at all will be found; and even the check that we signed, will be turned into tinder." Ten minutes later, Herr and Frau Meiser were lugging something toward the public wells, and soon dame Catharine murmured, _sotto voce_, the following incantation: "Demon, child of hell, be thou accursed! "Demon, child of hell, be thou dashed headlong down! "Demon, child of hell, return to hell!" A dull sound--the sound of a body falling into water, terminated the ceremony, and the two spouses returned to their domicil, with the satisfaction that always follows the performance of a duty. Nicholas said to himself: "I didn't think she was so credulous!" "I didn't think he was so simple!" thought the worthy Kettle, wedded wife of Claus. They slept the sleep of innocence. Oh, how much less soft their pillows would have seemed, if Fougas had gone home with his million! At ten o'clock the next morning, while they were taking their coffee and buttered rolls, the president of the bank called in, and said to them: "I am greatly obliged to you for having accepted a draft on Paris instead of a million in specie, and without premium, too. That young Frenchman you sent to us is a little brusque, but very lively, and a good fellow." CHAPTER XVIII. THE COLONEL TRIES TO RELIEVE HIMSELF OF A MILLION WHICH INCUMBERS HIM. Fougas had left Paris for Berlin the day after his audience. He took three days to make the trip, because he stopped some time at Nancy. The Marshal had given him a letter of introduction to the Prefect of Meurthe, who received him very politely, and promised to aid him in his investigations. Unfortunately, the house where he had loved Clementine Pichon was no longer standing. The authorities had demolished it in 1827, in cutting a street through. It is certain that the commissioners had not demolished the family with the house, but a new difficulty all at once presented itself: the name of Pichon abounded in the city, the suburbs, and the department. Among this multitude of Pichons, Fougas did not know which one to hug. Tired of hunting, and eager to hasten forward on, the road to fortune, he left this note for the commissioner of police: "Search, on the registers of personal statistics and elsewhere, for a young girl named Clementine Pichon. She was eighteen years old in 1813; her parents kept an officers' boarding-house. If she is alive, get her address; if she is dead, look up her heirs. A father's happiness depends upon it!"