"Do not weep, rose of heaven," said Naundorff, leading her toward René. "Divine providence permits at last that you shall be happy. My dream was to see you the wife of a French nobleman. He whom you love is noble in birth and noble in soul. Love one another. Charles Louis blesses you." "No," protested René. "We shall not marry until you are rehabilitated. Amélie would not consent." Amélie extended her hand in approval. "Not until my father recovers his name and honor may we be happily married, René." "Do as you will," murmured Naundorff. "I will not again buffet Fate, knowing in advance that I shall fall a victim." He made a signal to the Marquis, who followed him into the basement of the house. It was a species of work-shop, illumined by the dim light of a lantern hanging from the smoky ceiling. On benches were scattered the implements of a watch-maker--springs, pincers, bridges, wires, minute tongs, unmounted watches, others in cases, machinery of various kinds and firearms. Naundorff double-locked the door and then, removing one of the tables, counted the bricks in the wall and, reaching the fifteenth numbering from the floor, he pried it out. A secret compartment was now revealed from which he took a yellow parchment and a small square box with a gold key hanging from it. "René de Giac," said Naundorff solemnly, "I confide this treasure to your unblemished honor. Herein is contained the last gleam of hope for me and my children. To no one have I delivered this manuscript and casket because my misfortunes have driven away all my friends, a result to be expected from the prediction heard within my prison walls. There have been moments in which I have thought to throw these proofs into the fire, for they seemed valueless, but tonight's episode has put an end to such an inclination. As I do not attain peace by living obscurely; as a dagger continues to be suspended over my head; as my sorrows flood the life of Amélie, my best-loved child--the only being who knows my secret; since, contrary to my desire, I am compelled to defend my rights, I resume the struggle. I shall secretly go to France and if you consider that the testimonials enclosed in that box constitute a solid basis for my claims before a French tribunal, or even before a human tribunal, then I shall proceed to my demands. No longer will I remain silent. But listen to my warning. From the very moment you possess the box and parchment, do not consider yourself safe on earth. Tremble, keep vigils, start in your sleep, trust no man. Treachery will bristle on all sides and spies will track you, to despoil you of the treasure. You look at me amazed and, perhaps, doubt my sanity, but reflect on the assault of this night. You will not wonder at my warnings when you read the manuscript. It is a plea addressed to a woman, to her whom I have most loved on earth, excepting my mother and daughter--a woman upon whom may God have pity! After you have read it, judge whether or no it should be