time,” said the Abbé Chaperon, dismissing the heirs, who had brought their children with them. He implores the deepest silence and will have no one but his ward near him. What a difference between this young girl’s behavior and yours!”
“Old hypocrite!” cried Crémière, “I shall stand sentry. It is quite possible that there is some plot against our interests.”
The postmaster had already disappeared into the garden, intending to watch his uncle with Ursule, and to have himself admitted into the house as an assistant. He returned stealthily without making the least noise with his boots, for the corridor and stairs were both carpeted. He was then able to reach the door of his uncle’s room unheard. The curé and the doctor had gone, La Bougival was preparing the poultices.
“Are we quite alone?” said the old man to his ward.
Ursule stood on tiptoe to look into the courtyard.
“Yes,” she said, “Monsieur le Curé has shut the gate himself in going out.”
“My beloved child,” said the dying man, “my hours, my minutes even, are numbered. I have not been a physician for nothing; the doctor’s poultices will keep me alive till to-night Do not cry, Ursule,” he said, finding himself interrupted by his goddaughter’s tears, “but listen to me carefully; it is a question of marrying Savinien. As soon as La Bougival comes up with the poultice, go down to
