he arrived at this
conclusion, he met a lawyer, with whom he had formerly had some
transactions, coming down the staircase. The sight sent a chill
through the mercer's commercial heart, and a presentiment--one of
those presentiments that seldom deceive--told him it was too late. He
had, however, the fortitude to abstain from visiting Monsieur Bonelle
until evening came; when he went up, resolved to see him in spite
of all Marguerite might urge. The door was half-open, and the old
housekeeper stood talking on the landing to a middle-aged man in a
dark cassock.

"It is all over! The old witch has got the priests at him," thought
Ramin, inwardly groaning at his own folly in allowing himself to be
forestalled.

"You cannot see Monsieur to-night," sharply said Marguerite, as he
attempted to pass.

"Alas! is my excellent friend so very ill?" asked Ramin, in a mournful
tone.

"Sir," eagerly said the clergyman, catching him by the button of his
coat, "if you are indeed the friend of that unhappy man, do seek to
bring him into a more suitable frame of mind. I have seen many dying
men, but never so much obstinacy, never such infatuated belief in the
duration of life."

"Then you think he really _is_ dying," asked Ramin; and, in spite of
the melancholy accent he endeavored to assume, there was something so
peculiar in his tone, that the priest looked at him very fixedly as he
slowly replied,

"Yes, air, I think he is."

"Ah!" was all Monsieur Ramin said; and as the clergyman had now
relaxed his hold of the button, Ramin passed in spite of the
remonstrances of Marguerite, who rushed after the priest. He found
Monsieur Bonelle in bed and in a towering rage.

"Oh! Ramin, my friend," he groaned, "never take a housekeeper,
and never let her know you have any property. They are harpies,
Ramin,--harpies! such a day as I have had; first, the lawyer, who
comes to write down 'my last testamentary dispositions,' as he calls
them; then the priest, who gently hints that I am a dying man. Oh,
what a day!"

"And _did_ you make your will, my excellent friend?" softly asked
Monsieur Ramin, with a keen look.

"Make my will?" indignantly exclaimed the old man; "make my will? what
do you mean, sir? do you mean to say I am dying?"

"Heaven forbid!" piously ejaculated Ramin.

"Then why do you ask me if I had been making my will?" angrily resumed
the old man. He then began to be extremely abusive.

When money was in the way, Monsieur