know, entered M. Rovere's apartment whenever
she wished. She was his landlady, his reader, his friend. Rovere was
brusque, but he was good. So it was nothing strange when the woman,
urged by curiosity, suddenly appeared in his rooms, for him to say: "Ah,
you here? Is that you? I did not call you." An electric bell connected
the rooms with the concierge lodge. Usually she would reply: "I thought
I heard the bell." And she would profit by the occasion to fix up the
fire, which M. Rovere, busy with his reading or writing, had forgotten
to attend to. She was much attached to him. She did not wish to have him
suffer from the cold, and recently had entered as often as possible,
under one pretext or another, knowing that he was ill, and desiring to
be at hand in case of need. When, one evening, about eight days before,
she had entered the room while the visitor, whom Moniche called the
individual, was there, the portress had been astonished to see the two
men standing before Rovere's iron safe, the door wide open and both
looking at some papers spread out on the desk.

Rovere, with his sallow, thin face, was holding some papers in his hand,
and the other was bent over, looking with eager eyes at--Mme. Moniche
had seen them well--some rent rolls, bills and deeds. Perceiving Mme.
Moniche, who stood hesitating on the threshold, M. Rovere frowned,
mechanically made a move as if to gather up the scattered papers. But
the portress said, "Pardon!" and quickly withdrew. Only--ah! only--she
had time to see, to see plainly the iron safe, the heavy doors standing
open, the keys hanging from the lock, and M. Rovere in his dressing
gown; the official papers, yellow and blue, others bearing seals and a
ribbon, lying there before him. He seemed in a bad humor, but said
nothing. Not a word.

"And the other one?"

The other man was as pale as M. Rovere. He resembled him, moreover. It
was, perhaps, a relative. Mme. Moniche had noticed the expression with
which he contemplated those papers and the fierce glance which he cast
at her when she pushed open the door without knowing what sight awaited
her. She had gone downstairs, but she did not at once tell her husband
about what she had seen. It was some time afterward. The individual had
come again. He remained closeted with M. Rovere for some hours. The
sick man was lying on the lounge. The portress had heard them through
the door talking in low tones. She did not know what they said. She
cou