“This was the current of my thoughts as I left the street of Michel le Compte, and turned up that of the Temple. As I slowly walked along, buried in a labyrinth of conjecture, the idea suddenly occurred to me that perhaps, after all, Ravalette and the people of the house in the Rue Michel le Compte, might merely have been performing parts in a very cleverly designed, and capitally acted drama; though how to account for the kaleidoscopic changes of the coins, I could not at first imagine. ‘Ah!’ said I, at length, ‘I have it! Hurrah! Bravo! Eureka, ten times over! The secret’s out, and I’m the man that found it!’ A sudden thought occurred to me, by the aid of which, even the coin mystery, was cleared up most satisfactorily; and that which ten minutes before was a profound and horrible mystery, was now, apparently, as clear as the noontide sun. Here is the train of reasoning which led me to this hopeful result: Ravalette was a wealthy and eccentric gentleman, who, observing my natural enthusiasm for the antique, and aptitude to the occult, had determined to either amuse himself and friends at my expense, possibly for the purpose of curing some of them of what, perhaps, he regarded as the same weakness; or, taking pity on what he looked upon as a sad and dangerous infatuation, had resorted to this rather costly experiment, in the hope that at its termination a perfect cure might be effected. The people in the house were, together with the woman and children at the _Barrière_, his confederates in the scheme. He was a learned man; saw that I could not be easily taken in; and therefore brought the wonders of chemical and ventriloquial sciences to his assistance--the latter in the affair of the floating voice, the former in the matter of the coins or disks. These coins had been coated with a substance that would, on exposure to the atmosphere, exhale away; and with this exhalation the first set of characters would of course disappear. Beneath this external coating was another, which, on contact with the air, would assume a peculiar color; beneath this, in turn, was another, and still another; the last of all, being that on which was written the last series of letters composing a sentence. The appearance of these words was the cue to the patron to utter his cry, dash the coins from his hands, and pretend to swoon. In the commotion resultant therefrom, attention would be drawn from the cause of the apparent disaster, and afford ample opportunity for their removal. The sentence, ‘_It is a very strange affair_,’ would be the very one naturally suggested under the circumstances, and had happily been selected as the most fitting one to afford exercise to the ventriloquist employed; and this apparent echoing of an unspoken thought would add additional piquancy to the scene, and materially assist in piling up the horripilant.