the dead woman's express desire?" asked Van der
Werff.

"Certainly!" cried the notary. "We were sent here to ascertain the amount
of the inheritance. The lid is fastened. Take the picklock, Meister.
There, it is open." The city magistrates found no valuables in the
casket, merely letters of different dates. There were not many. Those at
the bottom, yellow with age, contained vows of love from the Marquis
d'Avennes, the more recent ones were brief and, signed Don Louis d'Avila.
Van Hout, who understood the Castilian language in which they were
written, hastily read them. As he was approaching the end of the last
one, he exclaimed with lively indignation:

"We have here the key of a rascally trick in our hands! Do you remember
the excitement aroused four years ago by the duel, in which the Marquis
d'Avennes fell a victim to a Spanish brawler? The miserable bravo writes
in this letter that he has. . . . It will be worth the trouble; I'll
translate it for you. The first part of the note is of no importance; but
now comes the point: 'And now, after having succeeded in crossing swords
with the marquis and killing him, not without personal danger, a fate he
has doubtless deserved, since he aroused your displeasure to such a
degree, the condition you imposed upon me is fulfilled, and to-morrow I
hope through your favor to receive the sweetest reward. Tell Donna Anna,
my adored betrothed, that I would fain lead her to the altar early
to-morrow morning, for the d'Avennes are influential and the following
day my safety will perhaps be imperilled. As for the rest, I hope I may
be permitted to rely upon the fairness and generosity of my patroness."

Van Hout flung the letter on the table, exclaiming "See, what a dainty
hand the bravo writes. And, Jove's thunder, the lady to whom this plotted
murder was to have been sent, is doubtless the mother of the unfortunate
marquis, whom the Spanish assassin slew."

"Yes, Herr Van Hout," said Belotti, "I can confirm your supposition. The
marquise was the wife of the man, who broke his plighted faith to the
young Fraulein Van Hoogstraten. She, who lies there, saw many suns rise
and set, ere her vengeance ripened."

"Throw the scrawl into the fire!" cried Van Hout impetuously.

"No," replied Peter. "We will not send the letters, but you must keep
them in the archives. God's mills grind slowly, and who knows what good
purpose these sheets may yet serve."

The city clerk nodded assent and