LITMIR.BIZ

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how or why. In case any valuables were missed, who would be accused of taking them? Why, the poor servants, of course. Ah, they have broad shoulders! Their trunks would be searched; and even if nothing were found, they would be sent to prison all the same. In the meantime other people would escape with the booty. No, Lisette! No one will stir from this room until the arrival of the justice——”

      Madame Leon was bursting with rage. “All right!” she interrupted; “I’m going to send for the count’s particular friend, General——”

      “I don’t care a fig for your general.”

      “Wretch!”

      It was Mademoiselle Marguerite who put an end to this indecent dispute. Its increasing violence had aroused her from her stupor. Casimir’s impudence brought a flush to her forehead, and stepping forward with haughty resolution, she exclaimed: “You forget that one never raises one’s voice in the chamber of death.” Her words were so true, and her manner so majestic, that M. Casimir was silenced. Then, pointing to the door, she coldly added: “Go for the justice of the peace, and don’t set foot here again, except in his company.”

      He bowed, stammered an unintelligible apology, and left the room. “She always gets the best of me,” he growled, as he went downstairs. “But seals shall be put on everything.”

      When he entered the porter’s lodge, M. Bourigeau was just getting up, having slept all night, while his wife watched. “Quick,” ordered M. Casimir; “make haste and finish dressing, and run for the justice of the peace—we must have him here at once. Everything must be done regularly and in order, upstairs.”

      The concierge was in despair. “Heavens!” he exclaimed; “so the master’s dead! What a misfortune!”

      “You may well say so; and this is the second time such a thing has happened to me. I remember now what a shrewd fellow named Chupin once said to me. ‘If I were a servant,’ he remarked, ‘before entering a man’s service, I’d make him insure his life for my benefit in one of those new-fangled companies, so that I might step into a handsome fortune if he took it into his head to die.’ But make haste, Bourigeau.”

      “That’s a famous idea, but scarcely practicable,” growled the concierge.

      “I don’t know whether it is or not. But at all events I’m terribly annoyed. The count was giving me enormous wages, and I had got him nicely into my ways. Well, after all, I shall only have to begin again!”

      M. Bourigeau had not yet attained to the heights of such serene philosophy, and as he buttoned his overcoat, he groaned: “Ah! you’re not situated as I am, Casimir. You’ve only yourself to look out for. I have my furniture; and if I don’t succeed in finding a position where I can have two rooms, I shall be obliged to sell part of it. What a blessed nuisance!”

      As soon as he was dressed he started off on his mission; and M. Casimir, who dared not return to the house, began walking slowly to and fro in front of the lodge. He had made some thirty turns or so, and was beginning to feel impatient, when he saw Victor Chupin approaching. “You are always on hand at the right moment,” remarked M. Casimir. “It’s all over!”

      Chupin turned eagerly. “Then our bargain holds?” he exclaimed. “You understand what I mean—the funeral, you know.”

      “It isn’t certain that I shall have anything to do with it; but call again in three hours from now.”

      “All right, I’ll be here.”

      “And M. Fortunat?” asked Casimir.

      “He received what he called a ‘violent shock’ last evening, but he’s better this morning. He instructed me to tell you that he should look for you between twelve and one—you know where.”

      “I’ll endeavor to be there, although it may be difficult for me to get away. If I go, however, I’ll show him the letter that caused the count’s illness; for the count threw it away, after tearing it into several pieces, and I found some of the bits which escaped his notice as well as mademoiselle’s. It’s a strange letter, upon my word!”

      Chupin gazed at the valet with a look of mingled wonder and admiration. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, “how fortunate a man must be to secure a valet like you!”

      His companion smiled complacently, but all of a sudden he remarked: “Make haste and go. I see Bourigeau in the distance, bringing the justice of the peace.”

      VII.

       Table of Contents

      The magistrate who was now approaching the Chalusse mansion in the concierge’s company, exemplified in a remarkable manner all the ideas that are awakened in one’s mind by the grand yet simple title of “Justice of the Peace.” He was the very person you would like to think of as the family magistrate; as the promoter of friendly feeling; as the guardian of the rights of the absent, the young, and the weak; as the just arbiter in unfortunate differences between those who are closely related; a sage of wide experience and boundless benevolence; a judge whose paternal justice dispenses with all pomp and display, and who is allowed by French statutes to hold his court by his own fireside, providing the doors stand open. He was considerably over fifty, tall, and very thin, with bent shoulders. His clothes were rather old-fashioned in cut, but by no means ridiculous. The expression of his face was gentleness itself; but it would not have done to presume upon this gentleness, for his glance was keen and piercing—like the glance of all who are expert in diving into consciences, and discovering the secrets hidden there. Moreover, like all men who are accustomed to deliberate in public, his features were expressionless. He could see and hear everything, suspect and understand everything, without letting a muscle of his face move. And yet the habitues of his audience-chamber, and his clerks, pretended that they could always detect the nature of his impressions. A ring which he wore upon one of his fingers served as a barometer for those who knew him. If a difficult case, or one that embarrassed his conscience, presented itself, his eyes fixed themselves obstinately upon this ring. If he were satisfied that everything was right, he looked up again, and began playing with the ring, slipping it up and down between the first and second joint of his finger; but if he were displeased, he abruptly turned the bezel inside.

      In appearance, he was sufficiently imposing to intimidate even M. Casimir. The proud valet bowed low as the magistrate approached, and with his heart in his mouth, and in an obsequious voice he said: “It was I who took the liberty of sending for you, monsieur.”

      “Ah!” said the magistrate, who already knew as much about the Hotel de Chalusse, and the events of the past twelve hours, as M. Casimir himself; for on his way to the house, he had turned Bourigeau inside out like a glove, by means of a dozen gentle questions.

      “If monsieur wishes I will explain,” resumed M. Casimir.

      “Nothing! It is quite unnecessary. Usher us in.”

      This “us” astonished the valet; but before they reached the house it was explained to him. He discovered a man of flourishing and even jovial mien who was walking along in the magistrate’s shadow carrying a large black portfolio under his arm. This was evidently the clerk. He seemed to be as pleased with his employment as he was with himself; and as he followed M. Casimir, he examined the adornments of the mansion, the mosaics in the vestibule, the statuary and the frescoed walls with an appraiser’s eye. Perhaps he was calculating how many years’ salary it would require to pay for the decorating of this one staircase.

      On the threshold of the death room the magistrate paused. There had been some change during M. Casimir’s absence. The doctor had left. The bed had been rearranged, and several candles were burning on a table covered with a white cloth. Madame Leon had gone to her own room, accompanied by two servants, to fetch a vessel of holy water and a branch of withered palm. She was now engaged in repeating the prayers for the dead, pausing from time to time to dip the palm branch in the holy water, and sprinkle the bed. Both windows had been opened

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