inquire after the health of Monsieur Bonelle,
and say that I sent you."

Catherine grumbled, and obeyed. Her
master was in the shop, when she returned in
a few minutes, and delivered with evident
satisfaction the following gracious message:

"Monsieur Bonelle desires his compliments
to you, and declines to state how he is; he
will also thank you to attend to your own
shop, and not to trouble yourself about his
health."

"How does he look?" asked Monsieur
Ramin with perfect composure.

"I caught a glimpse of him, and he appears
to me to be rapidly preparing for the good
offices of the undertaker."

Monsier Ramin smiled, rubbed his hands,
and joked merrily with a dark-eyed grisette,
who was cheapening some ribbon for her cap.
That girl made an excellent bargain that day.

Towards dusk the mercer left the shop to
the care of his attendant, and softly stole up
to the fourth story. In answer to his gentle
ring, a little old woman opened the door, and,
giving him a rapid look, said briefly,

"Monsieur is inexorable; he won't see any
doctor whatever."

She was going to shut the door in his face,
when Ramin quickly interposed, under his
breath, with "/ am not a doctor."

She looked at him from head to foot.

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Nothing of the sort, my good lady."

"Well then, are you a priest?"

"I may almost say, quite the reverse."

"Indeed you must go away, Master sees no
one."

Once more she would have shut the door;
but Ramin prevented her.

"My good lady," said he in his most
insinuating tones, "it is true I am neither a
lawyer, a doctor, nor a priest. I am an old
friend, a very old friend of your excellent
master; I have come to see good Monsieur
Bonelle in his present affliction."

Marguerite did not answer, but allowed
him to enter, and closed the door behind him.
He was going to pass from the narrow and
gloomy ante-chamber into an inner room—
whence now proceeded a sound of loud coughing
—when the old woman laid her hand on
his arm, and raising herself on tiptoe, to
reach his ear whispered:

"For Heaven's sake, Sir, since you are his
friend, do talk to him; do tell him to make
his will, and hint something about a soul to
be saved, and all that sort of thing: do, Sir!"

Monsieur Ramin nodded and winked in a
way that said "I will." He proved however
his prudence by not speaking aloud; for a
voice from within sharply exclaimed,

"Marguerite, you are talking to some one.
Marguerite, I will see neither doctor nor
lawyer; and if any meddling priest dare—"

"It is only an old friend, Sir;" interrupted
Marguerite, opening the inner door.

Her master, on looking up, perceived the
red face of Monsieur Ramin peeping over
the old woman's shoulder, and irefully cried
out,

"How dare you bring that fellow here?
And you, Sir, how dare you come?"

"My good old friend, there are feelings,"
said Ramin, spreading his fingers over the left
pocket of his waistcoat,—"there are feelings,"
he repeated, "that cannot be subdued. One
such feeling brought me here. The fact is,
I am a good-natured easy fellow, and I never
bear malice. I never forget an old friend,
but love to forget old differences when I
find one party in affliction."

He drew a chair forward as he spoke, and
composedly seated himself opposite to his late
master.

Monsieur Bonelle was a thin old man
with a pale sharp face and keen features.
At first he eyed his visitor from the depths
of his vast arm-chair; but, as if not satisfied
with this distant view, he bent forward, and
laying both hands on his thin knees, he looked
up into Ramin's face with a fixed and piercing
gaze. He had not, however, the power of
disconcerting his guest.

"What did you come here for?" he at
length asked.

"Merely to have the extreme satisfaction
of seeing how you are, my good old friend.
Nothing more."

"Well, look at me—and then go."

Nothing could be so discouraging: but this
was an Excellent Opportunity, and when
Monsieur Ramin had an excellent opportunity in
view, his pertinacity was invincible. Being
now resolved to stay, it was not in Monsieur
Bonelle's power to banish him. At the same
time, he had tact enough to render his
presence agreeable. He knew that his coarse
and boisterous wit had often delighted
Monsieur Bonelle of old, and he now exerted
himself so successfully as to betray the old
man two or three times into hearty laughter.

"Ramin," said he, at length, laying his thin
hand on the arm of his guest, and peering
with his keen glance into the mercer's purple
face, "you are a funny fellow, but I know
you; you cannot make me believe you have
called just to see how I am, and to amuse
me. Come, be candid for once; what do you
want?"

Ramin threw himself back in his chair, and
laughed blandly, as much as to say, "Can you
suspect me?"

"I have no shop now out of which you can
wheedle me," continued the old man; "and
surely you are not such a fool as to come to
me for money."

"Money?" repeated the draper, as if his
host had mentioned something he never
dreamt of. "Oh, no!"

Ramin saw it would not do to broach the
subject he had really come about, too abruptly,
now that suspicion seemed so wide awake—
the opportunity had not arrived.

"There is something up, Ramin, I know;