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 banknotes; 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 pocketbook, La Carconte, and find a bag somewhere.’
“La Carconte went to a cupboard, and returned with an old leathern pocketbook and a bag. From the former she took some greasy letters, and put in their place the banknotes, 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 goodwill.’
“ ‘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 Abbé Busoni should by any accident return, think of me.’
“ ‘In another week you will