You shall see him pass from my hand to the _coffre_, and yet you shall not find how he does travel." My father smiled bitterly.
"Conjurer to the last!" said he.

"In the face of death, what a mockery is his trade!" Wandering as were his wits, he caught the last word and turned fiercely round; but there was no recognition in his eye.
"Trade, Monsieur!" he echoed.

"Trade!--you shall not call him trade! Do you know who I am, that you dare call him trade?
_Dieu des Dieux! N'est-ce pas que je suis noble, moi ?_ Trade!--when did one of my race embrace a trade?
_Canaille!_ I do condescend for my reasons to take your money, but you shall not call him a trade!" Exhausted by this sudden burst of passion, he fell back upon his pillow, muttering and flushed.

I bent over him, and caught a scattered phrase from time to time.

He was dreaming of wealth, fancying himself rich and powerful, poor wretch! and all unconscious of his condition.
"You shall see my Chateaux," he said, "my horses--my carriages.
Listen--it is the ringing of the bells.