“Well, we’ll take what it’s worth,” said Zelie, sharply.

“Monsieur l’abbe,” said the old man to the priest, who remained beside his friend after administering the communion, “help me to die in peace.  My heirs, like those of Cardinal Ximenes, are capable of pillaging the house before my death, and I have no monkey to revive me.  Go and tell them I will have none of them in my house.”

The priest and the doctor of the town went downstairs and repeated the message of the dying man, adding, in their indignation, strong words of their own.

“Madame Bougival,” said the doctor, “close the iron gate and allow no one to enter; even the dying, it seems, can have no peace.  Prepare mustard poultices and apply them to the soles of Monsieur’s feet.”

“Your uncle is not dead,” said the abbe, “and he may live some time longer.  He wishes for absolute silence, and no one beside him but his niece.  What a difference between the conduct of that young girl and yours!”

“Old hypocrite!” exclaimed Cremiere.  “I shall keep watch of him.  It is possible he’s plotting something against our interests.”

The post master had already disappeared into the garden, intending to watch there and wait his chance to be admitted to the house as an assistant.  He now returned to it very softly, his boots making no noise, for there were carpets on the stairs and corridors.  He was able to reach the door of his uncle’s room without being heard.  The abbe and the doctor had left the house; La Bougival was making the poultices.

“Are we quite alone?” said the old man to his godchild.

Ursula stood on tiptoe and looked into the courtyard.

“Yes,” she said; “the abbe has just closed the gate after him.”

“My darling child,” said the dying man, “my hours, my minutes even, are counted.  I have not been a doctor for nothing; I shall not last till evening.  Do not cry, my Ursula,” he said, fearing to be interrupted by the child’s weeping, “but listen to me carefully; it concerns your marriage to Savinien.  As soon as La Bougival comes back go down to the pagoda,—­here is the key,—­lift the marble top of the Boule buffet and you will find a letter beneath it, sealed and addressed to you; take it and come back here, for I cannot die easy unless I see it in your hands.  When I am dead do not let any one know of it immediately, but send for Monsieur de Portenduere; read the letter together; swear to me now, in his name and your own, that you will carry out my last wishes.  When Savinien has obeyed me, then announce my death, but not till then.  The comedy of the heirs will begin.  God grant those monsters may not ill-treat you.”

“Yes godfather.”