The doctor’s miserliness was not mere talk; it was real, and it had an object.  From the year 1817 he cut off two of his newspapers and ceased subscribing to periodicals.  His annual expenses, which all Nemours could estimate, did not exceed eighteen hundred francs a year.  Like most old men his wants in linen, boots, and clothing, were very few.  Every six months he went to Paris, no doubt to draw and reinvest his income.  In fifteen years he never said a single word to any one in relation to his affairs.  His confidence in Bongrand was of slow growth; it was not until after the revolution of 1830 that he told him of his projects.  Nothing further was known of the doctor’s life either by the bourgeoisie at large or by his heirs.  As for his political opinions, he did not meddle in public matters seeing that he paid less than a hundred francs a year in taxes, and refused, impartially, to subscribe to either royalist or liberal demands.  His known horror for the priesthood, and his deism were so little obtrusive that he turned out of his house a commercial runner sent by his great-nephew Desire to ask a subscription to the “Cure Meslier” and the “Discours du General Foy.”  Such tolerance seemed inexplicable to the liberals of Nemours.

The doctor’s three collateral heirs, Minoret-Levrault and his wife, Monsieur and Madame Massin-Levrault, junior, Monsieur and Madame Cremiere-Cremiere—­whom we shall in future call simply Cremiere, Massin, and Minoret, because these distinctions among homonyms is quite unnecessary out of the Gatinais—­met together as people do in little towns.  The post master gave a grand dinner on his son’s birthday, a ball during the carnival, another on the anniversary of his marriage, to all of which he invited the whole bourgeoisie of Nemours.  The collector received his relations and friends twice a year.  The clerk of the court, too poor, he said, to fling himself into such extravagance, lived in a small way in a house standing half-way down the Grand’Rue, the ground-floor of which was let to his sister, the letter-postmistress of Nemours, a situation she owed to the doctor’s kind offices.  Nevertheless, in the course of the year these three families did meet together frequently, in the houses of friends, in the public promenades, at the market, on their doorsteps, or, of a Sunday in the square, as on this occasion; so that one way and another they met nearly every day.  For the last three years the doctor’s age, his economies, and his probable wealth had led to allusions, or frank remarks, among the townspeople as to the disposition of his property, a topic which made the doctor and his heirs of deep interest to the little town.  For the last six months not a day passed that friends and neighbours did not speak to the heirs, with secret envy, of the day the good man’s eyes would shut and the coffers open.

“Doctor Minoret may be an able physician, on good terms with death, but none but God is eternal,” said one.