The next morning the maid—­and the neighborhood—­was startled to hear that the cotton buyer had died in the night.  The physician called and gave a certificate of death without going up to the death chamber.

The funeral procession was short.  There was first the carriage with the priest and the acolytes; then the hearse; then a carriage in which sat the cotton buyer’s clerk,—­he had had but one,—­his broker, and two men of that singular sort that make it a point to go to everybody’s funeral; then a carriage occupied by Attalie’s other lodgers, and then, in a carriage bringing up the rear, were Camille Ducour and Madame Brouillard.  She alone wept, and, for all we have seen, we yet need not doubt her tears were genuine.  Such was the cortege.  Oh! also, in his private vehicle, driven by himself, was a very comfortable and genteel-looking man, whom neither Camille nor Attalie knew, but whom every other attendant at the funeral seemed to regard with deference.  While the tomb was being sealed Camille sidled up to the broker and made bold to ask who the stranger was.  Attalie did not see the movement, and Camille did not tell her what the broker said.

Late in the next afternoon but one Camille again received word from Attalie to call and see her in all haste.  He found her in the Englishman’s front room.  Five white men were sitting there with her.  They not only looked amused, but plainly could have looked more so but for the restraints of rank and station.  Attalie was quite as visibly frightened.  Camille’s knees weakened and a sickness came over him as he glanced around the group.  For in the midst sat the stranger who had been at the funeral, while on his right sat two, and on his left two, men, the terror of whose presence we shall understand in a moment.

“Mr. Ducour,” said the one who had been at the funeral, “as friends of Mr. [Englishman] we desire to express our satisfaction at the terms of his last will and testament.  We have had a long talk with Madame Brouillard; but for myself, I already know his wish that she should have whatever he might leave.  But a wish is one thing; a will, even a nuncupative will by public act, is another and an infinitely better and more effective thing.  But we wish also to express our determination to see that you are not hindered in the execution of any of the terms of this will, whose genuineness we, of course, do not for a moment question.”  He looked about upon his companions.  Three of them shook their heads gravely; but the fourth, in his over-zeal, attempted to, say “No,” and burst into a laugh; whereupon they all broadly smiled, while Camille looked ghastly.  The speaker resumed.