ive and forty thousand
francs,' inquired Caderousse in a hoarse voice, 'where are they?
Come--let us see them.'--'Here they are,' replied the jeweller, and he
counted out upon the table 15,000. francs in gold, and 30,000 francs in
bank-notes.

"'Wait while I light the lamp,' said La Carconte; 'it is growing dark,
and there may be some mistake.' In fact, night had come on during this
conversation, and with night the storm which had been threatening for
the last half-hour. The thunder growled in the distance; but it was
apparently not heard by the jeweller, Caderousse, or La Carconte,
absorbed as they were all three with the demon of gain. I myself felt; a
strange kind of fascination at the sight of all this gold and all these
bank-notes; it seemed to me that I was in a dream, and, as it always
happens in a dream, I felt myself riveted to the spot. Caderousse
counted and again counted the gold and the notes, then handed them to
his wife, who counted and counted them again in her turn. During this
time, the jeweller made the diamond play and sparkle in the lamplight,
and the gem threw out jets of light which made him unmindful of those
which--precursors of the storm--began to play in at the windows. 'Well,'
inquired the jeweller, 'is the cash all right?'

"'Yes,' said Caderousse. 'Give me the pocket-book, La Carconte, and find
a bag somewhere.'

"La Carconte went to a cupboard, and returned with an old leathern
pocket-book and a bag. From the former she took some greasy letters, and
put in their place the bank-notes, and from the bag took two or three
crowns of six livres each, which, in all probability, formed the entire
fortune of the miserable couple. 'There,' said Caderousse; 'and now,
although you have wronged us of perhaps 10,000 francs, will you have
your supper with us? I invite you with good-will.'--'Thank you,'
replied the jeweller, 'it must be getting late, and I must return to
Beaucaire--my wife will be getting uneasy.' He drew out his watch, and
exclaimed, 'Morbleu, nearly nine o'clock--why, I shall not get back to
Beaucaire before midnight! Good-night, my friends. If the Abbe Busoni
should by any accident return, think of me.'--'In another week you will
have left Beaucaire.' remarked Caderousse, 'for the fair ends in a few
days.'--'True, but that makes no difference. Write to me at Paris, to
M. Joannes, in the Palais Royal, arcade Pierre, No. 45. I will make the
journey on purpose to see him, if it is wort