An hour later, when the black maid returned from an errand, she found her
mistress at the head of the stairs near the Englishman's door, talking in
suppressed tones to Camille Ducour, who, hat in hand, seemed to have just
dropped in and to be just going out again. He went, and Attalie said to
her maid that he was "so good" and was going to come and sit up all night
with the sick man.
The next morning the maid--and the neighborhood--was startled to hear
that the cotton buyer had died in the night. The physician called and gave
a certificate of death without going up to the death chamber.
The funeral procession was short. There was first the carriage with the
priest and the acolytes; then the hearse; then a carriage in which sat the
cotton buyer's clerk,--he had had but one,--his broker, and two men of
that singular sort that make it a point to go to everybody's funeral; then
a carriage occupied by Attalie's other lodgers, and then, in a carriage
bringing up the rear, were Camille Ducour and Madame Brouillard. She alone
wept, and, for all we have seen, we yet need not doubt her tears were
genuine. Such was the cortége. Oh! also, in his private vehicle, driven
by himself, was a very comfortable and genteel-looking man, whom neither
Camille nor Attalie knew, but whom every other attendant at the funeral
seemed to regard with deference. While the tomb was being sealed Camille
sidled up to the broker and made bold to ask who the stranger was. Attalie
did not see the movement, and Camille did not tell her what the broker
said.
Late in the next afternoon but one Camille again received word from
Attalie to call and see her in all haste. He found her in the Englishman's
front room. Five white men were sitting there with her. They not only
looked amused, but plainly could have looked more so but for the
restraints of rank and station. Attalie was quite as visibly frightened.
Camille's knees weakened and a sickness came over him as he glanced around
the group. For in the midst sat the stranger who had been at the funeral,
while on his right sat two, and on his left two, men, the terror of whose
presence we shall understand in a moment.
"Mr. Ducour," said the one who had been at the funeral, "as friends of Mr.
[Englishman] we desire to express our satisfaction at the terms of his
last will and testament. We have had a long talk with Madame Brouillard;
but for myself, I already know his wish that she should have whatever he
might leave. But a wish is one thing; a will, even a nuncupative will by
public act, is another and an infinitely better and more effective thing.
But we wish also to express our determination to see that you are not
hindered in the execution of any of the terms of this will, whose
genuineness we, of course, do not for a moment question." He looked about
upon his companions. Three of them shook their heads gravely; but the
fourth, in his over-zeal, attempted to, say "No," and burst into a laugh;
whereupon they all broadly smiled, while Camille looked ghastly. The
speaker resumed.
"I am the custodian of all Mr. [Englishman's] accounts and assets. This
gentleman is a judge, this one is a lawyer,--I believe you know them all
by sight,--this one is a banker, and this one--a--in fact, a detective. We
wish you to feel at all times free to call upon any or all of us for
advice, and to bear in mind that our eyes are ever on you with a
positively solicitous interest. You are a busy man, Mr. Ducour, living
largely by your wits, and we must not detain you longer. We are glad that
you are yourself to receive fifteen hundred dollars. We doubt not you have
determined to settle the affairs of the estate without other remuneration,
and we not merely approve but distinctly recommend that decision. The task
will involve an outlay of your time and labor, for which fifteen hundred
dollars will be a generous, a handsome, but not an excessive remuneration.
You will be glad to know there will still be something left for Madame
Brouillard. And now, Mr. Ducour,"--he arose and approached the pallid
scamp, smiling benevolently,--"_remember_ us as your friends, who will
_watch_ you"--he smote him on the shoulder with all the weight of his open
palm--"with no _ordinary_ interest. Be assured you shall get your fifteen
hundred, and Attalie shall have the rest, which--as Attalie tells me she
has well known for years--will be about thirty thousand dollars.
Gentlemen, our dinner at the lake will be waiting. Good-day, Mr. Ducour.
Good-day, Madame Brouillard. Have no fear. Mr. Ducour is going to render
you full justice,--without unnecessary delay,--in solid cash."
And he did.