Such a discovery was well calculated to give them
additional energy; they dug with unparalleled activity, and the spoil
they found in many places of concealment threw the Croesuses of many
cantons into perfect despair. The cursed Cossacks! But yet the
instinct which so surely led them to the spot where treasure was
hidden, did not guide them to the hiding place of the Cure. It was
like the blessing of heaven, each morning the sun rose and nothing
new; nothing new when it set.
Most decidedly the finger of heaven must be recognised in the
impenetrability of the mysterious inhumation performed by Moiselet. M.
Senard was so fully convinced of it, that he actually mingled
thanksgivings with the prayers which he made for the preservation and
repose of his diamonds. Persuaded that his vows would be heard, in
growing security he began to sleep more soundly, when one fine day,
which was, of all days in the week, a Friday, Moiselet, more dead than
alive, ran to the Cure's.
"Ah, sir, I can scarcely speak."
"What's the matter, Moiselet?"
"I dare not tell you. Poor M. le Cure, this affects me deeply, I am
paralyzed. If my veins were open not a drop of blood would flow."
"What is the matter? You alarm me."
"The hole."
"Mercy! I want to learn no more.
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