“Louis XI. and I,” he said in conclusion, “have just been lying to each other like two pedlers of coconuts.  You understand, my girl, that if he follows me, he will get the secret of the hiding-place.  The king alone can watch my wanderings at night.  I don’t feel sure that his conscience, near as he is to death, can resist thirteen hundred thousand crowns.  We must be beforehand with him; we must find the hidden treasure and send it to Ghent, and you alone—­”

Cornelius stopped suddenly, and seemed to be weighing the heart of the sovereign who had had thoughts of parricide at twenty-two years of age.  When his judgment of Louis XI. was concluded, he rose abruptly like a man in haste to escape a pressing danger.  At this instant, his sister, too feeble or too strong for such a crisis, fell stark; she was dead.  Maitre Cornelius seized her, and shook her violently, crying out: 

“You cannot die now.  There is time enough later—­Oh! it is all over.  The old hag never could do anything at the right time.”

He closed her eyes and laid her on the floor.  Then the good and noble feelings which lay at the bottom of his soul came back to him, and, half forgetting his hidden treasure, he cried out mournfully:—­

“Oh! my poor companion, have I lost you?—­you who understood me so well!  Oh! you were my real treasure.  There it lies, my treasure!  With you, my peace of mind, my affections, all, are gone.  If you had only known what good it would have done me to live two nights longer, you would have lived, solely to please me, my poor sister!  Ah, Jeanne! thirteen hundred thousand crowns!  Won’t that wake you?—­No, she is dead!”

Thereupon, he sat down, and said no more; but two great tears issued from his eyes and rolled down his hollow cheeks; then, with strange exclamations of grief, he locked up the room and returned to the king.  Louis XI. was struck with the expression of sorrow on the moistened features of his old friend.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“Ah! sire, misfortunes never come singly.  My sister is dead.  She precedes me there below,” he said, pointing to the floor with a dreadful gesture.

“Enough!” cried Louis XI., who did not like to hear of death.

“I make you my heir.  I care for nothing now.  Here are my keys.  Hang me, if that’s your good pleasure.  Take all, ransack the house; it is full of gold.  I give up all to you—­”

“Come, come, crony,” replied Louis XI., who was partly touched by the sight of this strange suffering, “we shall find your treasure some fine night, and the sight of such riches will give you heart to live.  I will come back in the course of this week—­”

“As you please, sire.”

At that answer the king, who had made a few steps toward the door of the chamber, turned round abruptly.  The two men looked at each other with an expression that neither pen nor pencil can reproduce.