pagne with the dessert. Uncle Bachelard was much vexed at having missed a bottle of Johannisberg, 105 years old, which had been sold to a Turk, only three days before, for 200 francs.

"Drink, my dear sir," he said unceasingly to Duveyrier, "when wine's good, it doesn't go to the head. It's like food, as long as it's good, it doesn't make one ill."

'For himself, however, he was a little careful. He wished to appear on this occasion as the worthy and generous merchant; he had a rose in his button-hole, was carefully trimmed and shaved, and abstained from his usual habit of smashing the plates and glasses. Trublot and Gueulin ate of everything. The uncle's theory seemed to be really true, for Duveyrier, who had a weak stomach, drank pretty heavily, and had a second helping of the crayfish, without discomfort, or other symptom, except the red spots on his face turning purple with blood.

They were still eating at nine o'clock. The lighted candles, guttering in the draught from an open window, shone on the silver and the glass, and four baskets of magnificent flowers were dying among the mess on the table. Besides the two head waiters, there was a separate waiter for each person, whose special duty it was to see to his bread, to supply him with wine, and to change his plate. It was hot, in spite of the fresh air coming in from the street, and there was a sort of breath of fulness rising from the steaming spiced sauces of the dishes, and the vanille-like perfume of the noble wines.

'After the coffee had been served, (with liqueurs and cigars) and the servants had left the room, uncle Bachelard fell back suddenly in his chair, and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

""Ah," said he, "we're comfortable."

'Trublot and Gueulin also were both lying back, with their arms hanging at their sides.

'Duveyrier, who was breathing heavily, shook his head and murmured"The crayfish were particularly good."

"The whole four looked at one another with a chuckle of satisfied selfindulgence away from the bothers of family. They unbuttoned their waistcoats, and, with eyes half shut, at first did not even speak, each concentrated in his own enjoyment. Then, congratulating themselves on their freedom from the presence of ladies, they rested their elbows on the table, drew their brightening faces nearer together, and talked vice.'

Octave is having his voice tried by Mdme. Duveyrier, when a sudden stroke of paralysis fells M. Vabre among his masses. of slips. He is put to bed, and his daughter sends for the doctor and for her husband (from an house of which she has

hitherto pretended to ignore the existence), but abstains from informing any more of the family that night.

'When Octave came down from his room at eight o'clock the next morning, he was amazed to find that the whole house knew everything about the fit, and what a hopeless state the landlord was in; for him, however, nobody cared; they were discussing who was to succeed.

When he went into the shop, the first person he saw was Mdme. Josserand, sitting in front of the till, already washed, brushed, and tightlaced, as it were under arms. Berthe, who seemed to have come down in an hurry, and was charmingly undressed in a dressing-gown, was beside her, looking very much alive. They became silent when they saw him, and the mother greeted him with a look of fury.

"So, sir," she said, "this is your feeling for the house? You plot with my daughter's enemies!"

'He wanted to excuse himself, and explain what had happened. But she shut his mouth. She accused him of having passed the night with the Duveyriers looking for the will, in order to put things into it. He laughed at her; and when he asked what interest he could have in doing that, she replied

""What interest, what interest? I'll tell you what, sir,-it was your duty to tell us at once, since God let you see the accident. Only to think that if it wasn't for me, my daughter wouldn't know anything yet. Yes; they'd have plundered her, if I hadn't rushed down stairs at the very first intimation. Your interest, sir, your interest? Who knows what that might be?"

"Oh, mama," said Berthe.

'But Mdme. Josserand shrugged her shoulders with contempt.

"People will do anything for money."

'Octave had to tell them the whole history of the fit. They exchanged glances; evidently, as the mother expressed it, some one had been up to something. How very kind, how really too kind, of Clotilde, to wish to postpone the shock to the family! At last they let the young man begin his work, though still without acquitting him of some curious part in the matter; and on they talked.

"And who," said Mdme. Josserand, "who is to pay the fifty thousand francs secured in your settlements? When he's under ground, I suppose we're to whistle for it."

"The fifty thousand francs!" said Berthe, in a low voice, with some hesitation. "You know he was only to pay ten thousand francs every six months, like you-it's not six months yet; we'd better wait."

"Wait! wait till he comes back to give it you, I suppose? What a fool you are! you want to be robbed! No, thank you. You'll insist up on the whole thing at once, out of the estate. Thank God, we're alive, we

are.

Nobody knows whether we're going to pay or not; but he's dead, and pay, he must."

'And she made her daughter swear not to give in, for she'd never yet given anybody the right to call her an ass. Every now and then, as she stormed, she turned her ear towards the cieling, as if she wanted to listen (through the entresol) to what was going on in the Duveyriers', on the first floor. Auguste had gone up to his father, as soon as he had heard what had happened. But this was no comfort to her; she yearned to be there herself; she was sure there was some deep plot. She ended by screaming

"Go you there! Auguste's too weak. They're doing him now!"

'So Berthe went up. Octave had been putting out the things in the window, while he listened to them. When he found himself alone with Mdme. Josserand, and that she was going out, he asked her, in hopes of a day's holiday, whether it would not be more proper, in the circumstances, to close the shop.

Why?" said she, wait till he's dead at any rate, before you throw away the day's custom." But, as he was arranging a piece of poppy-red silk, she added, as though to soften the expression—

"" Only, I don't think you need put red in the window."

On the first floor, Berthe found Auguste with his father. The room was unchanged since the night before; it was still chilly and silent, and filled with the same painful sound of breathing. The old man still lay stiff on the bed, insensible and motionless. The table was still incumbered with the oak box full of paper slips. No drawer or cabinet seemed to have been moved or opened. The only change seemed to be that the Duveyriers appeared to be more knocked up, worn out with want of sleep all night, and their eye-lids shaky, twitching with a perpetual pre-occupation. They had sent Hippolyte at seven o'clock to fetch their son Gustave from the Lycée Bonaparte, and the lad was there, a puny over-precocious boy of sixteen, still quite bewildered at this unhoped for holiday, to be passed beside a death-bed.

"Oh, my dear, what a dreadful blow," said Clotilde, coming forward to kiss Berthe.

““ Why didn't you let us know?" answered Berthe, making one of her mother's wry faces; we were there to help you to bear it."

66

'Auguste gave her an imploring look to be silent. The moment for quarrelling had not come. They could wait. Dr. Juillerat had been once already, and was coming again, but he held out no hope that the patient would last out the day. Auguste was telling this to his wife, when Théophile and Valérie came in. Clotilde instantly went to meet her, and said again, as she kissed her

666

Oh, my dear, what a dreadful blow."

'But Théophile, in a furious passion, cried out, without even caring to lower his voice

"So the coal-heaver's the proper person to tell one that one's father's dying! I suppose you wanted the time for looking into his pockets?" 'Duveyrier sprang up in indignation, but Clotilde thrust him aside, and whispered to her brother

""Scoundrel! you have no respect even for our poor father's agony. Look at him-look at your work. It's you that gave him the turn by refusing to pay your back rent."

'Valérie began to laugh.

"What a joke," she said.

"What a joke," repeated Clotilde with horror. "You know thoroughly well how much he liked to get his rents paid. If you'd wanted to kill him, you'd have done what you did.”

And then they got to words higher still. wishing to have their inheritances.

They accused each other of

Till at last Auguste, who was sulky

and composed, called them back to decency—
"Hold your tongues. You'll have plenty of time to do that.
decent, now."

It's not

'The family felt this, and took their places round the bed. A dead silence set in, and you could hear the painful breathing again in the chilly room. Berthe and Auguste were at the dying man's feet; Valérie and Théophile, having come last, had to go farther off, near the table; while Clotilde sat at the bed's head, with her husband behind her, and pushed forward her son Gustave, of whom the old man was very fond, against the side of the mattresses. They all looked at one another now, without speaking, but the bright eyes and the pinched lips showed the silent thoughts and the troubled and angry calculations which were passing through the pale heads of these legatees with red eyelids. The sight of the school-boy so near the bed exasperated the two younger couples above everything, for the Duveyriers were counting on the sight of Gustave to touch his grandfather's heart if he should happen to recover his consciousness. At the same time, this trick was a proof that there was no will; and the looks of the whole family wandered towards an old strong-box, in which their father used to keep money when he was in practice as a solicitor, and which he had brought from Versailles, and ensconsed in a corner of his room. He used to put in it, with a sort of infatuation, all manner of objects. No doubt the Duveyriers had been rummaging this box during the night. Théophile wanted to lay a trap for them.

At last he whispered to the councillor

"Tell me ; wouldn't it be a good thing to let the solicitors know-papa might want to change something."

'Duveyrier did not hear him at first. He was intensely wearied in this room, and had amused himself all night with building castles in the air about his own profligacies, with his eyes fixed upon the dying man. Théophile had to repeat his question; and then he answered with a start— "I've asked M. Renaudin. There's no will."

""Here?"

"Either here or at the solicitors'."

"Théophile looked at Auguste. Wasn't it clear? The Duveyriers must have been rummaging. Clotilde saw this exchange of glances, and became furious with her husband. What was the matter with him? Had his grief made him an idiot? And she said

"You may be sure papa has done whatever he ought. We shall know soon enough. Oh, God!"

'She cried, and, Valérie and Berthe, from a sort of sympathy, began to sob quietly. Theophile walked back to his chair on the points of his toes. He knew now what he had wanted to know. Most certainly, if his father came to his senses again, he was not going to allow the Duveyriers to use their ragamuffin in order to benefit themselves. But, as he sat down, he saw his brother Auguste wipe his eyes, and this affected him so much that he felt quite choking; the thought came into his mind that he would have to die himself, and perhaps of this same malady; it was too bad. So the whole family went into tears, except Gustave, who could not cry. He was frightened, and looked at the ground, occupying himself, for want of something to do, in regulating his own breathing by the respiration of his grandfather, in the same way as they made them mark time at the gymnastic lessons."

'The hours were passing away. At eleven o'clock, there was a mild excitement; Dr. Juillerat came again. The patient was decidedly worse; and it was now very doubtful whether he would be able to recognise his children, before his death. The sobbing was beginning afresh, when Clémence came to announce the Abbé Mauduit. Clotilde, who rose to go and meet him, was the first to receive his words of sympathy. He seemed himself to feel all the sorrow of the family, and found some word of comfort for each and all. And then, with great skill and tenderness, he began to speak of the rights of religion, and suggested that it was a duty not to let the soul pass away without the succour of the Church.

"I thought of it," whispered Clotilde.

'But Théophile objected. He said their father did not practise any kind of religion; that, as a matter of fact, he must have had rather advanced ideas at one time, for he used to read Voltaire; and that, in short, it was much better not to do anything, as long as they could not hear from himself what he wished. He wound up by saying warmly

““You might as well bring the Almighty* to this chair."

'The three women made him be quiet. They were all melted, said that the Priest was quite right, and made excuses for not having sent for him before, in the confusion and excitement of their sudden grief. If M. Vabre

Le bon Dieu. As this is the term generally used by Frenchmen, in speaking of the Creator, the above expression (which is adhered to throughout) seems the only way to render it.