“Granted that I am waiting, if you will have it so.”

But old Roland, who had been listening and cogitating, suddenly hit upon the most probable solution.

“Bless me! what fools we are to be racking our brains.  Maitre Lecanu is our very good friend; he knows that Pierre is looking out for a medical partnership and Jean for a lawyer’s office, and he has found something to suit one of you.”

This was so obvious and likely that every one accepted it.

“Dinner is ready,” said the maid.  And they all hurried off to their rooms to wash their hands before sitting down to table.

Ten minutes later they were at dinner in the little dining-room on the ground-floor.

At first they were silent; but presently Roland began again in amazement at this lawyer’s visit.

“For after all, why did he not write?  Why should he have sent his clerk three times?  Why is he coming himself?”

Pierre thought it quite natural.

“An immediate decision is required, no doubt; and perhaps there are certain confidential conditions which it does not do to put into writing.”

Still, they were all puzzled, and all four a little annoyed at having invited a stranger, who would be in the way of their discussing and deciding on what should be done.

They had just gone upstairs again when the lawyer was announced.  Roland flew to meet him.

“Good-evening, my dear Maitre,” said he, giving his visitor the title which in France is the official prefix to the name of every lawyer.

Mme. Rosemilly rose.

“I am going,” she said.  “I am very tired.”

A faint attempt was made to detain her; but she would not consent, and went home without either of the three men offering to escort her, as they always had done.

Mme. Roland did the honours eagerly to their visitor.

“A cup of coffee, monsieur?”

“No, thank you.  I have just had dinner.”

“A cup of tea, then?”

“Thank you, I will accept one later.  First we must attend to business.”

The deep silence which succeeded this remark was broken only by the regular ticking of the clock, and below stairs the clatter of saucepans which the girl was cleaning—­too stupid even to listen at the door.

The lawyer went on: 

“Did you, in Paris, know a certain M. Marechal—­Leon Marechal?”

M. and Mme. Roland both exclaimed at once:  “I should think so!”

“He was a friend of yours?”

Roland replied:  “Our best friend, monsieur, but a fanatic for Paris; never to be got away from the boulevard.  He was a head clerk in the exchequer office.  I have never seen him since I left the capital, and latterly we had ceased writing to each other.  When people are far apart you know——­”

The lawyer gravely put in: 

“M.  Marechal is deceased.”