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‘A viper!’ cried Jean-Marie, running towards him. ‘A viper! You are bitten!’

The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and, advanced in silence to meet the boy, whom he took roughly by the shoulder.

‘I have found it,’ he said, with a gasp.

‘A plant?’ asked Jean-Marie.

Desprez had a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the rocks took up and mimicked. ‘A plant!’ he repeated scornfully. ‘Well–yes–a plant. And here,’ he added suddenly, showing his right hand, which he had hitherto concealed behind his back–‘here is one of the bulbs.’

Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth.

‘That?’ said he. ‘It is a plate!’

‘It is a coach and horses,’ cried the Doctor. ‘Boy,’ he continued, growing warmer, ‘I plucked away a great pad of moss from between these boulders, and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what do you suppose I saw? I saw a house in Paris with a court and garden, I saw my wife shining with diamonds, I saw myself a deputy, I saw you–well, I–I saw your future,’ he concluded, rather feebly. ‘I have just discovered America,’ he added.

‘But what is it?’ asked the boy.

‘The Treasure of Franchard,’ cried the Doctor; and, throwing his brown straw hat upon the ground, he whooped like an Indian and sprang upon Jean- Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and bedewed with tears. Then he flung himself down among the heather and once more laughed until the valley rang.

But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy’s interest. No sooner was he released from the Doctor’s accolade than he ran to the boulders, sprang into the niche, and, thrusting his hand into the crevice, drew forth one after another, encrusted with the earth of ages, the flagons, candlesticks, and patens of the hermitage of Franchard. A casket came last, tightly shut and very heavy.

‘O what fun!’ he cried.

But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had followed close behind and was silently observing, the words died from his lips. Desprez was once more the colour of ashes; his lip worked and trembled; a sort of bestial greed possessed him.

‘This is childish,’ he said. ‘We lose precious time. Back to the inn, harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your life, and remember–not one whisper. I stay here to watch.’

Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The noddy was brought round to the spot indicated; and the two gradually transported the treasure from its place of concealment to the boot below the driving seat. Once it was all stored the Doctor recovered his gaiety.

‘I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,’ he said. ‘O, for a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in the vein for sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at Franchard. English pale ale is to be had–not classical, indeed, but excellent. Boy, we shall drink ale.’

‘But I thought it was so unwholesome,’ said Jean-Marie, ‘and very dear besides.’

‘Fiddle-de-dee!’ exclaimed the Doctor gaily. ‘To the inn!’

And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head, with an elastic, youthful air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew up beside the palings of the inn garden.

‘Here,’ said Desprez–‘here, near the table, so that we may keep an eye upon things.’

They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, now in fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from his chest. He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter with witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at length produced, far more charged with gas than the most delirious champagne, he filled out a long glassful of froth and pushed it over to Jean-Marie. ‘Drink,’ he said; ‘drink deep.’

‘I would rather not,’ faltered the boy, true to his training.

‘What?’ thundered Desprez.

‘I am afraid of it,’ said Jean-Marie: ‘my stomach–‘