“I trust,” said Destourbet, after one of these intervals which enabled the clerk to walk by his side, “I trust we shall find Maitre Arbillot down there; we shall have need of his services in looking over and filing the papers of the deceased.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” answered Seurrot, “the notary will meet us at the chateau; he went to Praslay to find out from his associates whether Monsieur de Buxieres had not left a will in his keeping.  In my humble opinion, that is hardly likely; for the deceased had great confidence in Maitre Arbillot, and it seems strange that he should choose to confide his testamentary intentions to a rival notary.”

“Well,” observed the justice, “perhaps when the seals are raised, we may discover an autograph will in some corner of a drawer.”

“It is to be hoped so, Monsieur,” replied Seurrot; “I wish it with all my heart, for the sake of Claudet Sejournant, for he is a good fellow, although on the sinister bar of the escutcheon, and a right jolly companion.”

“Yes; and a marvellous good shot,” interrupted the justice.  “I recognize all that; but even if he had a hundred other good qualities, the grand chasserot, as they call him here, will be on the wrong side of the hedge if Monsieur de Buxieres has unfortunately died intestate.  In the eye of the law, as you are doubtless aware, a natural child, who has not been acknowledged, is looked upon as a stranger.”

“Monsieur de Buxieres always treated Claudet as his own son, and every one knew that he so considered him.”

“Possibly, but if the law were to keep count of all such cases, there would be no end to their labors; especially in all questions of the ‘cujus’.  Odouart de Buxieres was a terribly wild fellow, and they say that these old beech-trees of Vivey forest could tell many a tale of his exploits.”

“He, he!” assented the clerk, laughing slyly, and showing his toothless gums, “there is some truth in that.  The deceased had the devil in his boots.  He could see neither a deer nor a pretty girl without flying in pursuit.  Ah, yes!  Many a trick has he played them—­talk of your miracles, forsooth!—­well, Claudet was his favorite, and Monsieur de Buxieres has told me, over and over again, that he would make him his heir, and I shall be very much astonished if we do not find a will.”

“Seurrot, my friend,” replied the justice, calmly, “you are too experienced not to know that our country folks dread nothing so much as testifying to their last wishes—­to make a will, to them, is to put one foot into the grave.  They will not call in the priest or the notary until the very last moment, and very often they delay until it is too late.  Now, as the deceased was at heart a rustic, I fear greatly that he did not carry his intentions into execution.”

“That would be a pity—­for the chateau, the lands, and the entire fortune would go to an heir of whom Monsieur Odouart never had taken account—­to one of the younger branch of Buxieres, whom he had never seen, having quarrelled with the family.”