s were Flemish, and the interest felt in their unhappy fate
soon evaporated. In those days wars and seditions furnished endless
excitements, and the drama of each day eclipsed that of the night
before. More grieved by the loss he had met with than by the death of
his three servants, Maitre Cornelius lived alone in his house with the
old Flemish woman, his sister. He obtained permission from the king to
use state couriers for his private affairs, sold his mules to a muleteer
of the neighborhood, and lived from that moment in the deepest solitude,
seeing no one but the king, doing his business by means of Jews, who,
shrewd calculators, served him well in order to gain his all-powerful
protection.

Some time after this affair, the king himself procured for his old
"torconnier" a young orphan in whom he took an interest. Louis XI.
called Maitre Cornelius familiarly by that obsolete term, which, under
the reign of Saint-Louis, meant a usurer, a collector of imposts, a man
who pressed others by violent means. The epithet, "tortionnaire," which
remains to this day in our legal phraseology, explains the old word
torconnier, which we often find spelt "tortionneur." The poor young
orphan devoted himself carefully to the affairs of the old Fleming,
pleased him much, and was soon high in his good graces. During a
winter's night, certain diamonds deposited with Maitre Cornelius by the
King of England as security for a sum of a hundred thousand crowns were
stolen, and suspicion, of course, fell on the orphan. Louis XI. was all
the more severe because he had answered for the youth's fidelity.
After a very brief and summary examination by the grand provost, the
unfortunate secretary was hanged. After that no one dared for a long
time to learn the arts of banking and exchange from Maitre Cornelius.

In course of time, however, two young men of the town, Touraineans,--men
of honor, and eager to make their fortunes,--took service with the
silversmith. Robberies coincided with the admission of the two young men
into the house. The circumstances of these crimes, the manner in which
they were perpetrated, showed plainly that the robbers had secret
communication with its inmates. Become by this time more than ever
suspicious and vindictive, the old Fleming laid the matter before
Louis XI., who placed it in the hands of his grand provost. A trial was
promptly had and promptly ended. The inhabitants of Tours blamed Tristan
l'Hermite secretly f