“I regret the necessity, sir, but so it must he.  I must be the first to enter this dwelling, absolutely alone, before introducing the heirs, in order to read the testament.”

“And who gave you such ridiculous and barbarous orders?” cried the clerk, singularly disappointed.

“My father, sir.”

“A most respectable authority, no doubt; but come, my worthy guardian, my excellent guardian,” resumed the clerk, “be a good fellow, and let us just take a peep in at the door.”

“Yes, yes, sir, only a peep!” cried the heroes of the trowel, with a supplicating air.

“It is disagreeable to have to refuse you, gentlemen,” answered Samuel; “but I cannot open this door, until I am alone.”

The masons, seeing the inflexibility of the old man, unwillingly descended the steps; but the clerk had resolved to dispute the ground inch by inch, and exclaimed:  “I shall wait for my master.  I do not leave the house without him.  He may want me—­and whether I remain on these steps or elsewhere, can be of little consequence to you my worthy keeper.”

The clerk was interrupted in his appeal by his master himself, who called out from the further side of the courtyard, with an air of business:  “M.  Piston! quick, M. Piston—­come directly!”

“What the devil does he want with me?” cried the clerk, in a passion.  “He calls me just at the moment when I might have seen something.”

“M.  Piston,” resumed the voice, approaching, “do you not hear?”

While Samuel let out the masons, the clerk saw, through a clump of trees, his master running towards him bareheaded, and with an air of singular haste and importance.  The clerk was therefore obliged to leave the steps, to answer the notary’s summons, towards whom he went with a very bad grace.

“Sir, sir,” said M. Dumesnil, “I have been calling you this hour with all my might.”

“I did not hear you sir,” said M. Piston.

“You must be deaf, then.  Have you any change about you?”

“Yes sir,” answered the clerk, with some surprise.

“Well, then, you must go instantly to the nearest stamp-office, and fetch me three or four large sheets of stamped paper, to draw up a deed.  Run! it is wanted directly.”

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, casting a rueful and regretful glance at the door of the walled-up house.

“But make haste, will you, M. Piston,” said the notary.

“I do not know, sir, where to get any stamped paper.”

“Here is the guardian,” replied M. Dumesnil.  “He will no doubt be able to tell you.”

At this instant, Samuel was returning, after showing the masons out by the street-door.

“Sir,” said the notary to him, “will you please to tell me where we can get stamped paper?”

“Close by, sir,” answered Samuel; “in the tobacconist’s, No. 17, Rue Vieille-du-Temple.”

“You hear, M. Piston?” said the notary to his clerk.  “You can get the stamps at the tobacconist’s, No. 17, Rue Vieille-du-Temple.  Be quick! for this deed must be executed immediately before the opening of the will.  Time presses.”