This Italian noble, who died January 4th, 1814, left as sole heir to about seven millions of unencumbered property, the poor prisoner, Joseph Lucher, and had, too, confided to him the secret of a hidden treasure of about twelve hundred thousand francs’ worth of diamonds, and three millions of coined moneys, Milanese ducats, Venetian florins, Spanish double doubloons, French Louis-d’or, and English sovereigns.
Joseph Lucher, when finally discharged, went with all speed to Turin, and thence to Milan. He acted cautiously, and at the end of a few days was in possession of the treasure which he had gone to look for, and also of a multitude of antique gems and cameos of great value. From Milan, Joseph Lucher proceeded to Hamburg, Amsterdam, and London, and collected riches enough to fill a king’s treasure-house. Lucher, who had learnd from his master the secret of speculating with success, placed his funds so advantageously that, after reserving the diamonds and a million of francs in his pocket-book, he had a revenue of six hundred thousand francs a year, payable by the banks of England, Germany, France, and Italy.
Having made these arrangements, he set out for Paris, where he arrived on the 15th of February, 1815, eight years, day for day, after the disappearance of the unfortunate Francois Picaud. He was then thirty-four years old. Joseph Lucher fell sick the day after he reached Paris, and, as he had no valet or attendants, he ordered himself to be taken to a hospital. He remained sick all the time the Emperor was in Elba, and during the Hundred Days; but when the second restoration seemed to have firmly established the throne of Louis XVIII., he quitted the hospital and went to the quarter Sainte-Opportune. There he learned the following facts:
In 1807, in the month of February, there had been considerable talk about the disappearance of a young shoemaker, a decent fellow, who was going to make a wonderful marriage. A practical joke played by three of his friends destroyed his good fortune, and the poor devil ran away or was carried off. No one knew what had become of him. His intended bride mourned him for two years, then, weary of her tears, married the cafe-keeper Loupian, who by this marriage increased his resources, and now had on the Boulevard the most splendid and best patronized cafe in Paris.
Joseph Lucher appeared to listen to the story with indifference. But he asked for the names of those whose joke had caused, it was thought, the misfortune of Picaud. These names had been forgotten.
One of those whom the new-comer questioned replied, however, “There is a certain Antoine Allut who said, in my hearing, that he knew those persons.”
“I knew an Allut in Italy; he came from Nimes.”
“This man also comes from Nimes. The Allut I knew lent me a hundred crowns, and told me to hand them to his cousin Antoine, as far as I remember.”
“You can remit the sum to Nimes, for he has gone back there.”
Next day a post-chaise, preceded by a courier who paid thrice the usual rates, flew rather than drove along the Lyons road. From Lyons the carriage followed the Rhone by the Marseilles road, which it left at the bridge of Saint-Esprit There an Italian abbe alighted for the first time since the journey began.
He took a hack and got out at Nimes at the well-known Hotel du Luxembourg; without any concealment, he asked the people of the inn what had become of Antoine Allut. The name, very common in that district, is borne by many families differing in rank, fortune, and religion. A long time was consumed in finding the individual of whom the Abbe Baldini was in search, and some more was required to make his acquaintance. When some intimacy had arisen the abbe told Antoine that, while he had been a prisoner in the Castello dell’ Ovo at Naples, for a state offense, he had formed the acquaintance of a comrade who arrived in 1811, and whose death he deeply regretted.
“At that time,” he said, “he was a young man of thirty; he died weeping for his lost country, and pardoning all who had done him wrong. He was from Nimes, and called Francois Picaud.”
Allut could not restrain a cry, and the abbe regarded him with astonishment.
“You knew, then, this Picaud?” he said. “He was one of my best friends. Poor fellow! he died far away. Did you know the cause of his arrest?”
“He did not know himself, and he swore to this so solemnly that I cannot doubt his ignorance.”