1340 it had invariably happened that a Van Tricasse, when left a
widower, had remarried a Van Tricasse younger than himself; who,
becoming in turn a widow, had married again a Van Tricasse
younger than herself; and so on, without a break in the
continuity, from generation to generation. Each died in his or
her turn with mechanical regularity. Thus the worthy Madame
Brigitte Van Tricasse had now her second husband; and, unless she
violated her every duty, would precede her spouse--he being ten
years younger than herself--to the other world, to make room for
a new Madame Van Tricasse. Upon this the burgomaster calmly
counted, that the family tradition might not be broken. Such was
this mansion, peaceful and silent, of which the doors never
creaked, the windows never rattled, the floors never groaned, the
chimneys never roared, the weathercocks never grated, the
furniture never squeaked, the locks never clanked, and the
occupants never made more noise than their shadows. The god
Harpocrates would certainly have chosen it for the Temple of
Silence.

[Illustration: the worthy Madame Brigitte Van Tricasse had now
her second husband]

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE COMMISSARY PASSAUF ENTERS AS NOISILY AS UNEXPECTEDLY.

When the interesting conversation which has been narrated began,
it was a quarter before three in the afternoon. It was at a
quarter before four that Van Tricasse lighted his enormous pipe,
which could hold a quart of tobacco, and it was at thirty-five
minutes past five that he finished smoking it.

All this time the two comrades did not exchange a single word.

About six o'clock the counsellor, who had a habit of speaking in
a very summary manner, resumed in these words,--

"So we decide--"

"To decide nothing," replied the burgomaster.

"I think, on the whole, that you are right, Van Tricasse."

"I think so too, Niklausse. We will take steps with reference to
the civil commissary when we have more light on the subject--
later on. There is no need for a month yet."

"Nor even for a year," replied Niklausse, unfolding his
pocket-handkerchief and calmly applying it to his nose.

There was another silence of nearly a quarter of an hour. Nothing
disturbed this repeated pause in the conversation; not even the
appearance of the house-dog Lento, who, not less phlegmatic than
his master, came to pay his respects in the parlour. Noble dog!--
a model for his race. Had he been made of pasteboard, wi