ror,
Samuel threw himself before him, and, pressing with all his might on a
knob in the lid of the casket--a knob which yielded to the pressure--he
exclaimed: "Since your infernal soul is incapable of remorse, it may
perhaps be shaken by disappointed avarice."

"What does he say?" cried Rodin. "What is he doing?"

"Look!" said Samuel, in his turn assuming an air of savage triumph. "I
told you, that the spoils of your victims should escape your murderous
hands."

Hardly had he uttered these words, before through the open-work of the
iron casket rose a light cloud of smoke, and an odor as of burnt paper
spread itself through the room. Rodin understood it instantly. "Fire!"
he exclaimed, as he rushed forward to seize the casket. It had been made
fast to the heavy marble slab.

"Yes, fire," said Samuel. "In a few minutes, of that immense treasure
there will remain nothing but ashes. And better so, than that it should
belong to you or yours. This treasure is not mine, and it only remains
for me to destroy it--since Gabriel de Rennepont will be faithful to the
oath he has taken."

"Help! water! water!" cried Rodin, as he covered the casket with his
body, trying in vain to extinguish the flames, which, fanned by the
current of air, now issued from the thousand apertures in the lid; but
soon the intensity of the fire diminished, a few threads of bluish smoke
alone mounted upwards--and then, all was extinct.

The work was done! Breathless and faint, Rodin leaned against the marble
slab. For the first time in his life, he wept; large tears of rage
rolled down his cadaverous cheeks. But suddenly, dreadful pains, at
first dull, but gradually augmenting in intensity, seized on him with so
much fury, though he employed all his energy to struggle against them,
that he fell on his knees, and, pressing his two hands to his chest,
murmured with an attempt to smile: "It is nothing. Do not be alarmed. A
few spasms--that is all. The treasure is destroyed--but I remain General
of the Order. Oh! I suffer. What a furnace!" he added, writhing in
agony. "Since I entered this cursed house, I know not what ails me.
If--I had not lived on roots--water--bread--which I go myself to buy--I
should think--I was poisoned--for I triumph--and Cardinal Malipieri has
long arms. Yes--I still triumph--for I will not die--this time no more
than the other--I will not die!"

Then, as he stretched out his arms convulsively, he continued: "It is
fire that