then proposed that they should talk it over
some other day. The mercer left Monsieur
Bonelle in the act of protesting that he felt as
strong as a man of forty.

Monsieur Ramin felt in no hurry to
conclude the proposed agreement. "The later
one begins to pay, the better," he said, as he
descended the stairs.

Days passed on, and the negotiation made
no way. It struck the observant tradesman
that all was not right. Old Marguerite
several times refused to admit him, declaring
her master was asleep: there was something
mysterious and forbidding in her manner that
seemed to Monsieur Ramin very ominous.
At length a sudden thought occurred to
him: the housekeeper—wishing to become her
master's heir—had heard his scheme and
opposed it. On the very day that he arrived at
this conclusion, he met a lawyer, with whom
he had formerly had some transactions, coming
down the staircase. The sight sent a chill
through the mercer's commercial heart, and a
presentiment—one of those presentiments that
seldom deceive—told him it was too late. He
had, however, the fortitude to abstain from
visiting Monsieur Bonelle until evening came;
when he went up, resolved to see him in spite
of all Marguerite might urge. The door was
half-open, and the old housekeeper stood
talking on the landing to a middle-aged man
in a dark cassock.

"It is all over! The old witch has got the
priests at him," thought Ramin, inwardly
groaning at his own folly in allowing himself
to be forestalled.

"You cannot see Monsieur to-night,"
sharply said Marguerite, as he attempted to
pass her.

"Alas! is my excellent friend so very ill?"
asked Ramin, in a mournful tone.

"Sir," eagerly said the clergyman, catching
him by the button of his coat, "if you are
indeed the friend of that unhappy man, do
seek to bring him into a more suitable frame
of mind. I have seen many dying men, but
never so much obstinacy, never such
infatuated belief in the duration of life."

"Then you think he really is dying?"
asked Rarnin; and, in spite of the melancholy
accent he endeavoured to assume, there was
something so peculiar in his tone, that the
priest looked at him very fixedly as he slowly
replied,

"Yes, Sir, I think he is."

"Ah!" was all Monsieur Ramin said; and
as the clergyman had now relaxed his hold
of the button, Ramin passed in spite of the
remonstrances of Marguerite, who rushed
after the priest. He found Monsieur Bonelle
still in bed and in a towering rage.

"Oh! Ramin, my friend," he groaned,
"never take a housekeeper, and never let her
know you have any property. They are
harpies, Ramin,—harpies! such a day as I
have had; first, the lawyer, who comes to
write down 'my last testamentary
dispositions,' as he calls them; then the priest;
who gently hints that I am a dying man. Oh,
what a day!"

"And did you make your will, my excellent
friend?" softly asked Monsieur Ramin, with
a keen look.

"Make my will?" indignantly exclaimed
the old man; "make my will? what do
you mean, Sir? do you mean to say I am.
dying?"

"Heaven forbid!" piously ejaculated Ramin.

"Then why do you ask me if I have been
making my will?" angrily resumed the old
man. He then began to be extremely abusive.

When money was in the way, Monsieur
Ramin, though otherwise of a violent temper,
had the meekness of a lamb. He bore the
treatment of his host with the meekest
patience, and having first locked the door
so as to make sure that Marguerite would not
interrupt them, he watched Monsieur Bonelle
attentively, and satisfied himself that the
Excellent Opportunity he had been ardently
longing for had arrived. "He is going fast,''
he thought; "and unless I settle the agreement
to-night, and get it drawn up and signed
to-morrow, it will be too late."

"My dear friend," he at length said aloud,
on perceiving that the old gentleman had
fairly exhausted himself and was lying panting
on his back, "you are indeed a lamentable
instance of the lengths to which the greedy
lust of lucre will carry our poor human
nature. It is really distressing to see
Marguerite, a faithful, attached servant, suddenly
converted into a tormenting harpy by the
prospect of a legacy! Lawyers and priests
flock around you like birds of prey, drawn
hither by the scent of gold! Oh, the
miseries of having delicate health combined
with a sound constitution and large
property!"

"Ramin," groaned the old man, looking
inquiringly into his visitor's face, "you are again
going to talk to me about that annuity—
I know you are!"

"My excellent friend, it is merely to deliver
you from a painful position."

"I am sure, Ramin, you think in your soul
I am dying," whimpered Monsieur Bonelle.

"Absurd, my dear Sir. Dying? I will prove
to you that you have never been in better
health. In the first place you feel no pain."

"Excepting from rheumatism," groaned
Monsieur Bonelle.

"Rheumatism! who ever died of rheumatism ?
and if that be all——"

"No, it is not all," interrupted the old man
with great irritability; "what would you say
to the gout getting higher and higher up
every day?"

"The gout is rather disagreeable, but if
there is nothing else——"

"Yes, there is something else," sharply
said Monsieur Bonelle. "There is an asthma
that will scarcely let me breathe, and a racking
pain in my head that does not allow me a