“Which proved,” said our hero, with a smile, “that the pleasure exceeded the pain.” Monsieur Plessis, as he sat with his new friend late that evening enjoying a glass of his favourite Burgundy, said— “Do you know that that affair of the brigands is rather a strange one.” “How so? have you not discovered where they came from, or where the rest of the rascals fled to?” “No; in truth, the two dead men no one could recognise. Their attire was the same as the great band of fugitive Chouans that, driven out of Brittany two years ago, were massacred wherever they could be found by the Blues—as the Republican soldiers were then styled; pursued across the Seine above Honfleur, they dispersed themselves through Normandy, committing various depredations, but were supposed to have been finally exterminated. There has been a general hunt after the rest of those brigands, but no trace of them is to be found.” “Curious enough, in such a well-populated district as this,” said the Lieutenant. “However, as you escaped being plundered, it matters but little.” “Yes, as it turned out,” said Jean Plessis. “The loss of the money would have been of no great moment; but I had very valuable papers relative to this estate of Coulancourt, and what is even of more consequence, Madame de Coulancourt, after some difficulty, a great deal of expense, and nearly two years’ delay, has procured certificates of her marriage with Monsieur Granby Arden, and also those of the birth, &c. &c., of her two children, Julian and Mabel; similar papers were lost, as you know, in the casket. By-the-by, that robbery of the contents of the casket was a most strange affair. When Madame de Coulancourt communicated it to me, I set out for Toulon, for I felt satisfied that the robbery was committed on board the ship you stayed so many hours in the night you had the care of Mademoiselle Arden. By patient and diligent inquiries and bribery, I found out that the two galley-slaves on board the vessel at that time were both remarkable men, who afterwards figured in the bloody scenes of the Reign of Terror. One perished under the axe of the guillotine, the other—the one I strongly suspect of committing the robbery—I cannot trace. With the fall of Robespierre he disappeared, and has not been heard of since. This man’s name was Vadier—Augustine Vadier; he was, before the Revolution broke out, a jeweller of great repute, in the Rue St. Pancras. He was famous for his skill in imitating precious stones of all kinds, and was a bad and dissipated man. It was discovered that some ladies of the court, who had sent their jewels to be re-set, were defrauded of the real gems and false ones substituted. Other frauds came out; he had false keys, could open cabinets and extract the contents in a most dexterous manner; and at last was brought to trial for stabbing one of his workmen, who threatened to betray him, and condemned to the galleys for life. He was sent to Toulon. When the