‘Just heaven!’ cried Waldau, ‘it must be so. You remember your late father, Maurice, and his eternal apprehensions, which all the locks in the world could not have quieted. You know, too, that he was often obliged to come to this city for the purpose of receiving large sums of money. What would a suspicious man do in such a case? He would convert his money, not into gold, but into paper, because they might easily be concealed. I do not doubt, from the story of the old woman, who has perhaps been his hostess, his housekeeper, or some faded flower of the mysterious garland of the past, that this cloak served your father for a strong box. Better acquainted with handling ducats than a needle, he probably had recourse to this old woman. You know it was upon his return from a journey that he died. Marie, open the collar quickly--Maurice, take my scissors, they are in my bag--quick.’ Marie uttered a joyful exclamation, as she felt papers through the fold of the cloth. At the same moment, a loud noise was heard, and Maurice rose. The unhappy Pierre, upon quitting the theatre in a state of distraction, had fallen into the canal, and, although he was quickly extricated, he had only time to mention the place of his abode before he died. The noise was caused by persons bringing home his corpse. In the confusion which followed, the cloak, now become so important an object, was stolen, and all searches and inquiries for its recovery were fruitless. When the first grief for the death of Pierre is over, Maurice finds that his father’s property, which he divides with his brother’s widow, is enough to enable him to marry his Louisa: he returns to Berling, and on the day fixed for the wedding, on which also Waldau is married to Marie, the old woman appears at the door in the old cloak. Maurice brings her into the middle of the room. ‘Who are you?’ said he, ‘and whence did you get this cloak?--What brings you here?--Quick--speak--explain yourself.’ ‘You put a great many questions at once,’ said the old woman. ‘What brings me here?--your good stars. As to the cloak--it is mine, for I bought it.’ While she spoke, Maurice looked at her, distrustingly. ‘This old woman,’ said he to himself, ‘has duped me once, and would willingly do so again. She has found the money in the cloak, and has now come to make a merit of restoring just so much of it as she thinks fit.’