Monsieur Delamort, Page 2

  Seeing ghosts was evidently a salutary occupation, if it could instil generosity into so mean a heart as Grosjean's. They profited by his mood, and accepted with alacrity the offer he made; and while they drank his health he fished from his pocket a golden napoleon with which to pay.

  The landlord took the coin, glanced at it, and rang it on the table. It emitted a most unmusical timbre.

  "It's cracked," some one suggested.

  "It's bad,", the landlord stated as he handed it back to Grosjean.

  "Bad?" echoed the old fellow, with a sudden pang of apprehension. "Bad? Impossible! Anyhow, here is another one."

  While he was examining the coin the landlord had returned to him, he heard the second one give out the same false sound. Dim suspicion now became sickening certainty. With an oath he drew from another pocket a five-franc piece, to pay for the drink which in a moment of expansion he had offered his compeers.

  "Wherever did you get those coins from, M. Grosjean?" inquired the host. "Surely some one has victimized you."

  Deeper than words can tell were his rage and mortification. Yet deeper still was the old man's wisdom, for he held his peace touching the transaction by which those coins had passed into his hands.

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