t say, and tears. Until the sun of the Positive arose, the
wise man had to make his choice between these two."

"I have been a buffoon, of course," observed Jean-Marie.

"I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your profession," said the
doctor, admiring the boy's gravity. "Do you ever laugh?"

"Oh, yes," replied the other. "I laugh often. I am very fond of jokes."

"Singular being!" said Desprez. "But I divagate (I perceive in a thousand
ways that I grow old). Franchard was at length destroyed in the English
wars, the same that levelled Gretz. But--here is the point--the hermits
(for there were already more than one) had foreseen the danger and
carefully concealed the sacrificial vessels. These vessels were of
monstrous value, Jean-Marie--monstrous value--priceless, we may say;
exquisitely worked, of exquisite material. And now, mark me, they have
never been found. In the reign of Louis Quatorze some fellows were
digging hard by the ruins. Suddenly--tock!--the spade hit upon an
obstacle. Imagine the men looking one to another; imagine how their
hearts bounded, how their colour came and went. It was a coffer, and in
Franchard, the place of buried treasure! They tore it open like famished
beasts. Alas! it was not the treasure; only some priestly robes, which,
at the touch of the eating air, fell upon themselves and instantly wasted
into dust. The perspiration of these good fellows turned cold upon them,
Jean-Marie. I will pledge my reputation, if there was anything like a
cutting wind, one or other had a pneumonia for his trouble."

"I should like to have seen them turning into dust," said Jean-Marie.
"Otherwise, I should not have cared so greatly."

"You have no imagination," cried the Doctor. "Picture to yourself the
scene. Dwell on the idea--a great treasure lying in the earth for
centuries: the material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence not
employed; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen; the swiftest galloping
horses not stirring a hoof, arrested by a spell; women with the beautiful
faculty of smiles, not smiling; cards, dice, opera singing, orchestras,
castles, beautiful parks and gardens, big ships with a tower of
sailcloth, all lying unborn in a coffin--and the stupid trees growing
overhead in the sunlight, year after year. The thought drives one
frantic."

"It is only money," replied Jean-Marie. "It would do harm."

"Oh, come!" cried Desprez, "that is philosophy; it is all very fine, but
not to th