AMONG all the paper that I found in the oaken chest, those which related to the death of Cartouche were by far the most curious, and presented the highest interest, in that they partly contradicted history. They denied with such persuasive strength, and such undeniable logic, that it is difficult to see how the great historians could have overlooked the real details, and the generations which have succeeded since the year 1721, should not have suspected the truth. History teaches us that Cartouche, after having suffered the rack in its most cruel form, during which he confessed nothing, not even a name or a fact, this Cartouche, who had only to die, and nothing to gain from his confession, nothing to soften his last moments, was brought to torment in the Place de la Grere, and it was there that he decided to speak. That they took him back to the Hotel de Ville, and that it was there that he betrayed his principal accomplices, after which he was racked and fastened to the cross, where he expired.

Immediately after this 360 persons were arrested, with the result that they were tried, and judicially massacred, the last one of them being executed two years after Cartouche.

Now in following the papers of ThÉophraste, we are not doing full justice to Cartouche. While Cartouche was an object of terror, he was at the same time an object of admiration. His courage knew no bounds, and he proved it at the time of his torture. At the moments when his sufferings were greatest, he did not speak. It was said that he only wished to die bravely. The great ladies of the court and of the city had hired windows and points of vantage from which to witness his death, and he did not wish to show them on the scaffold, a cowardly dastard, but the most daring and bravest of bandits. It is an historical fact that of the 360 persons who were arrested after his death, it was found that Cartouche was loved by all. The official report showed women throwing themselves in the arms of L’Enfant at the Hotel de Ville, even after the denunciation.

It is not necessary to mention all the protests that M. Longuet made against the dishonorable death attributed to Cartouche, but some of the preceding lines seem to show that he was right.

It was while conversing on this question that ThÉophraste and his friend arrived at the Rue de le Petit Pont, without passing over the bridge.

“My dear friend,” said ThÉophraste, “look at that house at the side of the hotel, which has the sign, ‘To the rendezvous of the Maraiches,’ and tell me if you find anything remarkable about it.” They were then in front of a low, narrow and dirty old house, a hotel. The door on the ground floor disclosed a counter for the sale of drinks. Above the door was a notice, “To the rendezvous of the kitchen-gardeners.” The hotel was leaning against a vast building of the eighteenth century, which ThÉophraste pointed out with his green umbrella. This building had a balcony of iron, wrought in a delicate design of the period.

“I observe a beautiful balcony, of which the feature in the design seems to be the quiver of the god of love.”

“Anything more?” asked ThÉophraste.

“I do not notice anything further,” said Adolphe.

“Do you notice the large gratings on the windows? There was a time, my dear Adolphe, when windows that had gratings on were very much in vogue. There were never so many grilled windows in Paris as in the year 1720, and I would swear that these were placed there the day after the affair of the Chateaux Augustins. The Parisians always protected their ground floor, but this did not trouble us very much, for we had Simon L’Auvergnat.”

Adolphe took the opportunity of asking ThÉophraste exactly who this Simon L’Auvergnat was. He was always referring to him, and without any obvious reasons.

“He was a very useful person,” said ThÉophraste, “he was the base of my column.”

“What do you mean by the ‘base of your column’?”

“You do not understand. Wait, and you soon will. Imagine yourself to be Simon L’Auvergnat. Stand like this,” and he indicated the position, against the wall of the house, that Adolphe was to take. He spread his legs and lowered his head, and raising his arms, leaned against the wall. “I will place you here,” said he, “on account of the cornice which is to the left. I remember that it was very convenient. Now, since you are the base of my column, I lean on that base and then—————-”

Before M. Lecamus had had time to see what was going to happen, ThÉophraste gripped his shoulders, leaped on the cornice of the hotel, from there to the balcony of the hotel at the side, and entered a room of which the window had been opened.

M. Lecamus, stupefied, looked up into the air, and was wondering to himself how on earth his friend could have disappeared in such a way, when suddenly piercing cries came from the room, and a voice yelled out, “Help! Robbers! Murder! Help!” Fearing some dreadful act, Adolphe rushed into the hotel. The passers-by were stopping in the street, and before long a crowd had collected. He leapt over the vast stairway with the agility of a young man, and arrived on the first landing at the moment the door opened, and ThÉophraste appeared, hat in hand. He was bowing to an old lady, whose teeth were chattering from fright, and whose hair was all done up in curl papers. “Dear madame,” he was saying, “if I had believed for one instant that I would have caused you such surprise, I would have remained downstairs. I am neither a robber, nor an assassin, my dear madam. All this is the fault of my friend Adolphe, who wanted me to show him how Simon L’Auvergnat could serve me as the base of a column.”

Adolphe had already seized his arm, and was drawing him toward the stairway. He made signs to the lady from behind ThÉophraste trying to make her understand that his friend was off his head. Thereupon, she fell unconscious into the hands of a chambermaid, and the stairway was soon filled with a crowd.

Adolphe profited by this to take ThÉophraste away. They passed through without hindrance, and were soon in the street again. Adolphe seemed not to hear ThÉophraste’s protests. With one hand he dragged him towards the Rue Huchette, and with the other dried the sweat which was running down his forehead.

“Where are you taking me to?” asked ThÉophraste.

“To the house of one of my friends in the Rue Huchette.”

When they reached the house in the Rue Huchette, they passed under a red porch, and into a very old house. Adolphe seemed to know the people, for he did not wait to be ushered in. He made ThÉophraste climb half a dozen stone steps which were extremely worn, and pushed open a thick door which was at the end of the court.

They were now in a sort of vestibule, lighted by a large lamp in the shape of a huge ball, suspended by iron chains from the stone ceiling.

“Wait for me here,” said Adolphe, after having closed the door by which they had entered. He promised not to be long and disappeared.

ThÉophraste seated himself in a large armchair, and looked around him. What he saw on the wall amused him. There was an incredible quantity of words painted in black letters. They seemed to cover the whole surface of the wall, in no sort of order at all. He spelt some of them. There was Iris, Thabet, Rush, Jakin, Bokez, Thebe, Paracaler, and the word “Iboah,” which appeared in many places. Turning toward the other wall, against which he had been leaning, he saw a Sphinx and the Pyramids.

An immense arch arose, and in the center of this was Christ, His arms extended out into a circle of flowers. On the arch were the words, “Amphitheater of the wise eternal son of Truth.” It was the arch of the “Rose Cross.” Below was this inscription, “There are none so blind as those who will not see.” Looking around he came across another inscription, in letters of gold: “As soon as you have won a fact, apply yourself to it with your whole mind. Look for the salient points in it. Behold the knowledge which is in it. Give way to the hypothesis. Hunt for the fault in it.” (Instructions to the clinic of the Hotel Dieu, Prof. Trousseau.) Besides this he saw figures of forles and vultures and jackals, men with birds’ heads, beetles, and the emblem of Osiris-an ass, and an eye. Finally he read these words in blue letters: “The more the soul is rooted in her instincts, the more will she be forgotten in the flesh, the less consciousness she will have of her immortality, and the more she will remain a prisoner in living corpses.”

Impatient at the absence of his friend, and becoming a little frightened, he attempted to raise the drapery behind which Adolphe had disappeared. But as he ascended the step his head struck an object which was suspended in the air, and looking up he found it was a skeleton.

We have said that M. Lecamus had applied himself to the occult sciences, and practiced spiritualism, but from what we know of M. Lecamus’ character, we feel that he was only an amateur in these things. He only practiced spiritualism for show, for snobbery, and to make an impression at the parties which he used to frequent. He believed no more in spiritualism than he believed in love. The day came, however, when his heart gave way, and when his spirit humiliated itself. It was the day that he met Marceline and M. Eliphaste de St. Elm. He met Marceline at a seance, where they had made him the father spirit. At this sÉance M. Eliphaste was recognized as the chief. However, this gentleman was rarely seen. He led a most retired and mysterious life at the foot of the Rue Huchette.

Marceline had attended this seance by the will of M. Longuet, who, having been to the Salon Pneumatics, insisted that Marceline should be presented there. He thought that it was a kind of worldly society, where such subjects as pneuma-tology were discussed.

The day that Marceline made her entrance to the Salon M. Eliphaste de St. Elm was to read a paper on the Gourse. Mme. Longuet found herself by chance next to M. Lecamus, and after discussing a good many points in the lecture, they found that they had a great many things in common, and by a curious chance M. Lecamus discovered that he was an old college chum of M. Longuet’s. It was thus that he became welcomed into the family circle of M. Longuet.

This preamble is necessary for us to understand the presence of M. Lecamus and Marceline together in the house of M. Eliphaste de St. Elm, at the foot of the Rue de Huchette, while ThÉophraste was waiting for him wearily in the vestibule. The visit was the result of a conversation between M. Lecamus and Mme. Longuet, early that morning. She had hidden nothing from him regarding the events of the nights before, and the history of Signor Petito’s ears showed to M. Lecamus the necessity of taking precautions against the spirit of Cartouche. At the bottom of his heart M. Lecamus felt to a certain extent guilty for the follies of ThÉophraste, and he had been asking himself, lately, just how far he could let this reincarnated soul go, for M. Lecamus was a novice at spiritualism, and it was his intention to experiment with ThÉophraste and Cartouche.

He was no sooner assured of having in his hands a reincarnated soul, than his curiosity aroused in him a desire to make use of it. This was exactly what he had done in putting the reincarnated soul of Cartouche before his portrait, without taking any precautions, and now he did not know how he could stop that which he had unconsciously set in motion. He knew how to arouse such a spirit, but he did not know how to stop it.

It was for this reason that he and Mme. Longuet had come this morning to beg M. St. Elm to exercise his influence, for there was not a cleverer guide for reincarnated souls in Paris.

In the meantime, ThÉophraste had been locked up in the vestibule, and when he struck his head against the skeleton, he began to think that it would be more tranquil in a mound at St. Chaumont. The corridor in which he found himself did not have a single window. A red gloom lighted it from one end to the other. It came from the cellar, and penetrated the thick pavement glass. The corridor had crevices and angles. He came to a corner and stopped abruptly. He was impatient to go ahead, and went into one of the two branching passageways which ran from the corridor. Five minutes later he found himself at the same cross passage. Then he went up the first corridor again, taking the direction that he had followed in coming out to the vestibule, but to his great surprise he could not find the vestibule. He wandered about for what seemed to him several hours, and he was just giving up hope of ever getting out of this labyrinth, when he saw Adolphe in the distance. He ran up to him and was on the point of reproving him for having kept him waiting so long, when Adolphe said to him sadly: “Come, Marceline is in there; we are going to present you to a good friend.”

ThÉophraste found himself in a large, dark room, where his attention was attracted by a great light which fell on the figure of a man. But strange to say, the light did not seem to fall on the man, but rather to radiate from him. In fact, when the figure moved it seemed to carry the light with it. Before the flambeau a woman was standing in a humble attitude, with clasped hands and bowed head.

Then ThÉophraste heard a voice, a friendly voice, a manly voice, a voice sweeter than the sweetest voice of woman, which said to him: “Come to me without fear.”

That which astonished M. Longuet above all else was the astral light which showed up the noble features of M. Eliphaste de St. Elm. He was a person of divine elegance, as elegant as a Christ on the Tripoli.

“I do not know where I am,” said ThÉophraste, “but it gives me confidence to see my friend Adolphe, and my wife, Marceline, at your side. However, I should like to know your name.”

“My dear sir,” said the harmonious voice, “I am called M. Eliphaste de St. Elm.”

“Well,” said ThÉophraste, “my name is Cartouche. But it has been believed for a long, long time that this name was given to me as a nickname.”

“You are not Cartouche,” said Eliphaste.

“Your name is ThÉophraste Longuet. You will pardon me, but there is no longer any need for confusion; you were formerly called Cartouche, but now you are called ThÉophraste Longuet.”

M. ThÉophraste then recalled a number of personages with whom he had, in the spirit of Cartouche, been speaking. They were all of the eighteenth century-Gatelard, Marie Antoinette Neron, and others, and it was evident that his mind was dwelling on that period, and he was living in the present a life of the past.

ThÉophraste was still talking of these times, when the half shadows which seemed to envelop him were suddenly dissipated, and the room appeared in the splendid brightness of day. He looked around with evident satisfaction, first at his wife, and then at Adolphe, and finally at M. Eliphaste. Eliphaste had entirely lost his supernatural aspect, his astral mantle had disappeared, and if his features had still their sublime and unusual pallor, he seemed, nevertheless, a man like other men.

“Ah, this is better,” said ThÉophraste, sighing.

“It is not necessary for you to think any more of old Paris,” said M. Eliphaste. “You have nothing more to do with it. You are ThÉophraste, and it is the year of grace, 1899.”

“Possibly,” replied ThÉophraste, who was obstinate; “but the question is, what about my treasure? I have a perfect right to look at a plan of old Paris, for I can follow the place where I buried it formerly, and find the place where I must look.”

Eliphaste, speaking to Lecamus, said, “I have often witnessed the crises of Karma, but never has it been given to me to study one of such strength.”

Eliphaste reflected, and then leading ThÉophraste to the right, he brought him before a map of real Paris. “Behold,” said he, “the exact point where Le Fouches de Mount FanÇons were. As to the mouth of the Choppinettes, and of the Coq, they were at those two points of the Monte St. Chaumont. The forks were found on a small eminence on the side of the principal mound, but far to the right of where the Protestant of the Rue de Crimee stands to-day. To find your treasure again, my friend, it will be necessary to search in that triangle. The mounds, as you say, have been the remains of a filled-in ditch, and I doubt very much if your treasure could still be found there. I specified for you the old space on a modern plan to disillusion you. You must clear your mind. Think no more on your treasures. Do not live in the past. You must live in the present, and for the future. You must drive away Cartouche, because Cartouche is no more. It is ThÉophraste Longuet who is.”

M. Eliphaste pronounced these words with great force.