I told them that I had made up my mind to recover the treasure, and I
promised them the fourth part of it, provided they would purchase the
sheath; I concluded by threatening again to possess myself of their
knife.

"I cannot decide," said the commissary, "before I have seen the sheath."

"I pledge my word to shew it to you to-morrow," I answered.

We parted company, highly pleased with each other.

In order to manufacture a sheath, such as the wonderful knife required,
it was necessary to combine the most whimsical idea with the oddest
shape. I recollected very well the form of the blade, and, as I was
revolving in my mind the best way to produce something very extravagant
but well adapted to the purpose I had in view, I spied in the yard of the
hotel an old piece of leather, the remnant of what had been a fine
gentleman's boot; it was exactly what I wanted.

I took that old sole, boiled it, and made in it a slit in which I was
certain that the knife would go easily. Then I pared it carefully on all
sides to prevent the possibility of its former use being found out; I
rubbed it with pumice stone, sand, and ochre, and finally I succeeded in
imparting to my production such a queer, old-fashioned shape that I could
not help laughing in looking at my work.

When I presented it to the commissary, and he had found it an exact fit
for the knife, the good man remained astounded. We dined together, and
after dinner it was decided that his son should accompany me, and