“The pearl necklace is gone!” cried Cornelius.  “There is sorcery in this.  I never left my room.”

“We’ll know all about it now,” said the king; the evident truthfulness of his silversmith making him still more thoughtful.

He immediately sent for the men he had stationed on the watch and asked:—­

“What did you see during the night?”

“Oh, sire!” said the lieutenant, “an amazing sight!  Your silversmith crept down the side of the wall like a cat; so lightly that he seemed to be a shadow.”

“I!” exclaimed Cornelius; after that one word, he remained silent, and stood stock-still like a man who has lost the use of his limbs.

“Go away, all of you,” said the king, addressing the archers, “and tell Messieurs Conyngham, Coyctier, Bridore, and also Tristan, to leave their rooms and come here to mine.—­You have incurred the penalty of death,” he said to Cornelius, who, happily, did not hear him.  “You have ten murders on your conscience!”

Thereupon Louis XI. gave a silent laugh, and made a pause.  Presently, remarking the strange pallor on the Fleming’s face, he added:—­

“You need not be uneasy; you are more valuable to bleed than to kill.  You can get out of the claws of my justice by payment of a good round sum to my treasury, but if you don’t build at least one chapel in honor of the Virgin, you are likely to find things hot for you throughout eternity.”

“Twelve hundred and thirty, and eighty-seven thousand crowns, make thirteen hundred and seventeen thousand crowns,” replied Cornelius mechanically, absorbed in his calculations.  “Thirteen hundred and seventeen thousand crowns hidden somewhere!”

“He must have buried them in some hiding-place,” muttered the king, beginning to think the sum royally magnificent.  “That was the magnet that invariably brought him back to Tours.  He felt his treasure.”

Coyctier entered at this moment.  Noticing the attitude of Maitre Cornelius, he watched him narrowly while the king related the adventure.

“Sire,” replied the physician, “there is nothing supernatural in that.  Your silversmith has the faculty of walking in his sleep.  This is the third case I have seen of that singular malady.  If you would give yourself the amusement of watching him at such times, you would see that old man stepping without danger at the very edge of the roof.  I noticed in the two other cases I have already observed, a curious connection between the actions of that nocturnal existence and the interests and occupations of their daily life.”

“Ah!  Maitre Coyctier, you are a wise man.”

“I am your physician,” replied the other, insolently.

At this answer, Louis XI. made the gesture which was customary with him when a good idea was presented to his mind; he shoved up his cap with a hasty motion.

“At such times,” continued Coyctier, “persons attend to their business while asleep.  As this man is fond of hoarding, he has simply pursued his dearest habit.  No doubt each of these attacks have come on after a day in which he has felt some fears about the safety of his treasure.”