The task, that the gentlemen now undertook, was no easy one, for the sick woman had scrawled short notes above and below, hither and thither, on the blank back of the document, probably to assist her memory while composing a new will.

At the very top a crucifix was sketched with an unsteady hand, and below it the words:  “Pray for us!  Everything shall belong to holy Mother Church.”

Farther down they read:  “Nico, I like the lad.  The castle on the downs.  Ten thousand gold florins in money.  To be secured exclusively to him.  His father is not to touch it.  Make the reason for disinheriting him conspicuous.  Van Vliet of Haarlem was the gentleman whose daughter my cousin secretly wedded.  On some pitiful pretext he deserted her, to form another marriage.  If he has forgotten it, I have remembered and would fain impress it upon him.  Let Nico pay heed:  False love is poison.  My life has been ruined by it—­ruined.”

The second “ruined” was followed by numerous repetitions of the same word.  The last one, at the very end of the sentence, had been ornamented with numerous curves and spirals by the sick woman’s pen.

On the right-hand margin of the sheet stood a series of short notes

“Ten thousand florins to Anna.  To be secured to herself.  Otherwise they will fall into the clutches of that foot-pad, d’Avila.

“Three times as much to Henrica.  Her father will pay her the money—­from the sum he owes me.  Where he gets it is his affair.  Thus the account with him would be settled.

“Belotti has behaved badly.  He shall be passed over.

“Denise may keep what was given her.”

In the middle of the paper, written in large characters, twice and thrice underlined, was the sentence:  “The ebony-casket with the Hoogstraten and d’Avila arms on the lid is to be sent to the widow of the Marquis d’Avennes.  Forward it to Chateau Rochebrun in Normandy.”

The men, who had mutually deciphered these words, looked at each other silently, until Van Hout exclaimed: 

“What a confused mixture of malice and feminine weakness.  Let a woman’s heart seem ever so cold; glacier flowers will always be found in it.”

“I’m sorry for the young lady in your house, Herr Peter,” cried the notary, it would be easier to get sparks from rye-bread, than such a sum from the debt-laden poor devil.  The daughter’s portion will be curtailed by the father; that’s what I call bargaining between relations.”

“What can be in the casket?” asked the notary.  “There it is,” cried Van Hout.

“Bring it here, Belotti.”

“We must open it,” said the lawyer, “perhaps she is trying to convey her most valuable property across the frontiers.”

“Open it?  Contrary to the dead woman’s express desire?” asked Van der Werff.