st at the same moment Madame Desprez
came to the kitchen threshold with a lighted lantern; for the moon was
not yet high enough to clear the garden walls.

'Close the gates, Jean-Marie!' cried the Doctor, somewhat unsteadily
alighting. 'Anastasie, where is Aline?'

'She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,' said madame.

'All is for the best!' exclaimed the Doctor fervently. 'Here, quick,
come near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud,' he continued.
'Darling, we are wealthy!'

'Wealthy!' repeated the wife.

'I have found the treasure of Franchard,' replied her husband. 'See,
here are the first fruits; a pineapple, a dress for my ever-beautiful--it
will suit her--trust a husband's, trust a lover's, taste! Embrace me,
darling! This grimy episode is over; the butterfly unfolds its painted
wings. To-morrow Casimir will come; in a week we may be in Paris--happy
at last! You shall have diamonds. Jean-Marie, take it out of the boot,
with religious care, and bring it piece by piece into the dining-room. We
shall have plate at table! Darling, hasten and prepare this turtle; it
will be a whet--it will be an addition to our meagre ordinary. I myself
will proceed to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that little
Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage; there are still three
bottles left. Worthy wine for a worthy occasion.'

'But, my husband; you put me in a whirl,' she cried. 'I do not
comprehend.'

'The turtle, my adored, the turtle!' cried the doctor; and he pushed her
towards the kitchen, lantern and all.

Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured to himself a different
scene--a more immediate protest, and his hope began to dwindle on the
spot.

The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps, and
now and then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long since he
had tasted absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that the absinthe
had been a misconception. Not that he regretted excess on such a
glorious day, but he made a mental memorandum to beware; he must not, a
second time, become the victim of a deleterious habit. He had his wine
out of the cellar in a twinkling; he arranged the sacrificial vessels,
some on the white table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still crusted with
historic earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, plying Anastasie with
vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, estimating their new
wealth at ever larger figures; an