“Are closed.”

“And the iron casket?”

“Is prepared,” answered Bathsheba, also in Hebrew.

After pronouncing these words, completely unintelligible to Rodin and Caboccini, Samuel and Bathsheba exchanged a bitter smile, notwithstanding the despair impressed on their countenances.

Ascending the steps, followed by the two reverend fathers, Samuel entered the vestibule of the house, in which a lamp was burning.  Endowed with an excellent local memory, Rodin was about to take the direction of the Red Saloon, in which had been held the first convocation of the heirs, when Samuel stopped him, and said:  “It is not that way.”

Then, taking the lamp, he advanced towards a dark staircase, for the windows of the house had not been un-bricked.

“But,” said Rodin, “the last time, we met in a saloon on the ground floor.”

“To-day, we must go higher,” answered Samuel, as he began slowly to ascend the stairs.

“Where to? higher!” said Rodin, following him.

“To the Hall of Mourning,” replied the Jew, and he continued to ascend.

“What is the Hall of Mourning?” resumed Rodin, in some surprise.

“A place of tears and death,” answered the Israelite; and he kept on ascending through the darkness, for the little lamp threw but a faint light around.

“But,” said Rodin, more and more astonished, and stopping short on the stairs, “why go to this place?”

“The money is there,” answered Samuel, and he went on,

“Oh? if the money is there, that alters the case,” replied Rodin; and he made haste to regain the few steps he had lost by stopping.

Samuel continued to ascend, and, at a turn of the staircase, the two Jesuits could see by the pale light of the little lamp, the profile of the old Israelite, in the space left between the iron balustrade and the wall, as he climbed on with difficulty above them.  Rodin was struck with the expression of Samuel’s countenance.  His black eyes, generally so calm, sparkled with ardor.  His features, usually impressed with a mixture of sorrow, intelligence, and goodness, seemed to grow harsh and stern, and his thin lips wore a strange smile.

“It is not so very high,” whispered Rodin to Caboccini. “and yet my legs ache, and I am quite out of breath.  There is a strange throbbing too in my temples.”

In fact, Rodin breathed hard, and with difficulty.  To this confidential communication, good little Father Caboccini, in general so full of tender care for his colleague, made no answer.  He seemed to be in deep thought.

“Will we soon be there?” said Rodin, impatiently, to Samuel.

“We are there,” replied the Israelite.

“And a good thing too,” said Rodin.

“Very good,” said the Jew.

Stopping in the midst of a corridor, he pointed with the hand in which he held the lamp to a large door from which streamed a faint light.  In spite of his growing surprise.  Rodin entered resolutely, followed by Father Caboccini and Samuel.  The apartment in which these three personage, now found themselves was very large.  The daylight only entered from a belvedere in the roof, the four sides of which had been covered with leaden plates, each of which was pierced with seven holes, forming a cross, thus: