“Quite useless,” said Abbe d’Aigrigny.  “The note contains all the important facts.”  Then, after a moment’s silence, he exclaimed, with an expression of triumphant pride:  “How great is the power of the Association, when founded upon tradition and perpetuity!  Thanks to this note, inserted in our archives a century and a half ago, this family has been watched from generation to generation—­our Order has always had its eyes upon them, following them to all points of the globe, to which exile had distributed them—­and at last, to-morrow, we shall obtain possession of this property, at first inconsiderable, but which a hundred and fifty years have raised to a royal fortune.  Yes, we shall succeed, for we have foreseen every eventuality.  One thing only troubles me.”

“What is that?” asked Rodin.

“The information that we have in vain tried to obtain from the guardian of the house in the Rue Saint-Francois.  Has the attempt been once more made, as I directed?”

“It has been made.”

“Well?”

“This time, as always before, the old Jew has remained impenetrable.  Besides he is almost in his second childhood, and his wife not much better.”

“When I think,” resumed Father d’Aigrigny, “that for a century and a half, this house in the Rue Saint-Francois has remained walled up, and that the care of it has been transmitted from generation to generation in this family of the Samuels—­I cannot suppose that they have all been ignorant as to who were and are the successive holders of these funds, now become immense by accumulation.”

“You have seen,” said Rodin, “by the notes upon this affair, that the Order has always carefully followed it up ever since 1682.  At different periods attempts have been made to obtain information upon subjects not fully explained in the note of Father Bourdon.  But this race of Jew guardians has ever remained dumb, and we must therefore conclude that they know nothing about it.”

“That has always struck me as impossible; for the ancestor of these Samuels was present at the closing of the house, a hundred and fifty years ago.  He was according to the file, a servant or confidential clerk of De Rennepont.  It is impossible that he should not have known many things, the tradition of which must have been preserved in the family.”

“If I were allowed to hazard a brief observation,” began Rodin, humbly.

“Speak.”

“A few years ago we obtained certain information through the confessional, that the funds were in existence, and that they had risen to an enormous amount.”

“Doubtless; and it was that which called the attention of the Reverend Father-General so strongly to this affair.”

“We know, then, what probably the descendants of the family do not—­the immense value of this inheritance?”

“Yes,” answered Father d’Aigrigny, “the person who certified this fact in confession is worthy of all belief.  Only lately, the same declaration was renewed; but all the efforts of the confessor could not obtain the name of the trustee, or anything beyond the assertion, that the money could not be in more honest hands.”