series letter; tertio, his ward’s capital; the book of transfers will give undeniable proofs. Ah! Minoret, you sly dog, I’ve got you—Motus, my boys!”
The justice of the peace left the curé, La Bougival and Ursule lost in profound admiration of the ways in which God leads innocence to its triumph.
“The finger of God is in this,” cried the Abbé Chaperon.
“Will they do him any harm?” said Ursule.
“Ah! mademoiselle!” cried La Bougival, “I would give a rope to hang him with.”
The justice of the peace had already arrived at Goupil’s, the appointed successor to Dionis, and was walking into the office with a sufficiently indifferent air.
“I want,” said he to Goupil, “some slight information about the Minoret inheritance.”
“What is it?” replied Goupil.
“Did the old man leave one or more three per cent bonds?”
“He left fifteen thousand francs a year in three per cents,” said Goupil “in one bond, I described it myself.”
“Then consult the inventory,” said the justice.
Goupil took a portfolio, searched it, drew out the memorandum, examined it, found what he wanted and read: “‘Item, one bond—’ Here, read it!—under number 23,533, letter M.”
“Be so kind as to give me a copy of this item of the inventory between this and one o’clock; I will wait for it.”
