of the dreadful
Madame Nourrisson, seeing his father-in-law married, having brought
back his brother-in-law to the family fold, suffering from no
importunity on the part of his new stepmother, and seeing his mother's
health improve daily, gave himself up to his political and judicial
duties, swept along by the tide of Paris life, in which the hours
count for days.

One night, towards the end of the session, having occasion to write up
a report to the Chamber of Deputies, he was obliged to sit at work
till late at night. He had gone into his study at nine o'clock, and,
while waiting till the man-servant should bring in the candles with
green shades, his thoughts turned to his father. He was blaming
himself for leaving the inquiry so much to the singer, and had
resolved to see Monsieur Chapuzot himself on the morrow, when he saw
in the twilight, outside the window, a handsome old head, bald and
yellow, with a fringe of white hair.

"Would you please to give orders, sir, that a poor hermit is to be
admitted, just come from the Desert, and who is instructed to beg for
contributions towards rebuilding a holy house."

This apparition, which suddenly reminded the lawyer of a prophecy
uttered by the terrible Nourrisson, gave him a shock.

"Let in that old man," said he to the servant.

"He will poison the place, sir," replied the man. "He has on a brown
gown which he has never changed since he left Syria, and he has no
shirt--"

"Show him in," repeated the master.

The old man came in. Victorin's keen eye examined this so-called
pilgrim hermit, and he saw a fine specimen of the Neapolitan friars,
whose frocks are akin to the rags of the _lazzaroni_, whose sandals
are tatters of leather, as the friars are tatters of humanity. The
get-up was so perfect that the lawyer, though still on his guard, was
vexed with himself for having believed it to be one of Madame
Nourrisson's tricks.

"How much to you want of me?"

"Whatever you feel that you ought to give me."

Victorin took a five-franc piece from a little pile on his table, and
handed it to the stranger.

"That is not much on account of fifty thousand francs," said the
pilgrim of the desert.

This speech removed all Victorin's doubts.

"And has Heaven kept its word?" he said, with a frown.

"The question is an offence, my son," said the hermit. "If you do not
choose to pay till after the funeral, you are in your rights. I will
return in a week's time."

"Th