“Perhaps, but I want none of them.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Monsieur!”

“Do you not think them genuine stones?”

“Assuredly,” said the Swiss, “else why should we have cared for them among our gems?”

“Well, then, I command you as your master, to take forth some of these jewels and keep them for your own.”

“But no,” replied the Swiss.  “It is only after Monsieur.”

“What?  Myself?”

“Assuredly.”

“Then, for the sake of precedent,” said Law, “let me see.  Well, then, I will take one gem, only one.  Here, Henri, is the diamond which I brought with me when I came to Paris years ago.  It was the sole jewel owned then by my brother and myself, though we had somewhat of gold between us, thanks to this same diamond.  It was once my sole capital, in years gone by.  Perhaps we may need a carriage through France, and this may serve to pay the hire of a vehicle from one of my late dukes or marquises.  Or perhaps at best I may send this same stone across the channel to my brother Will, who has wisely gone to Scotland, or should have departed before this.  So, very well, Henri, to oblige you I will take this single stone.  Now, do you help yourself.”

“Since Monsieur limits himself to so little,” said the Swiss, sturdily, “I shall not want more.  This little pin will serve me, and I shall wear it long in memory of your many kindnesses.”

Law rose to his feet and caught the good fellow by the hand.

“By heaven, I find you of good blood!” said he.  “My friend, I thank you.  And now put up the box.  I shall not counsel you to take more than this.  We shall leave the rest for those who will presently come to claim it.”

For some time silence reigned in the great room, as Law, deeply engaged in the affairs before him, buried himself in the mass of scattered books and papers.  Hour after hour wore on, and at last he turned from his employment.  His face showed calm, pale, and furrowed with a sadness which till now had been foreign to it.  He arose at last, and with a sweep of his arm pushed back the papers which lay before him.

“There,” said he.  “This should conclude it all.  It should all be plain enough now to those who follow.”

“Monsieur is weary,” mentioned the faithful attendant.  “He would have some refreshment.”

“Presently, but I think not here, Henri.  My household is not all so faithful as yourself, and I question if we could find cook or servants for the table below.  No, we are to leave Paris to-night, Henri, and it is well the journey should begin.  Get you down to the stables, and, if you can, have my best coach brought to the front door.”

“It may not be quite safe, if Monsieur will permit me to suggest.”

“Perhaps not.  These fools are so deep in their folly that they do not know their friends.  But safe or not, that is the way I shall go.  We might slip out through the back door, but ’tis not thus John Law will go from Paris.”