As they entered their rooms, the manservant handed a letter to Madeleine. She opened it, and then held it out to her husband. It ran as follows:
“ Madame —I have the honor to beg you to favor me with a call here on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday between the hours of two and four, on business concerning you.—I am, etc. — Lamaneur. ”
George had reddened in turn. “That is what it must be,” said he. “It is strange, though, that it is you who are summoned, and not myself, who am legally the head of the family.”
She did not answer at once, but after a brief period of reflection, said: “Shall we go round there by and by?”
“Yes, certainly.”
They set out as soon as they had lunched. When they entered Maitre Lamaneur’s office, the head clerk rose with marked attention and ushered them in to his master. The notary was a round, little man, round all over. His head looked like a ball nailed onto another ball, which had legs so short that they almost resembled balls too. He bowed, pointed to two chairs, and turning towards Madeleine, said: “Madame, I have sent for you in order to acquaint you with the will of the Count de Vaudrec, in which you are interested.”
George could not help muttering: “I thought so.”
The notary went on: “I will read to you the document, which is very brief.”
He took a paper from a box in front of him, and read as follows:
“I, the undersigned, Paul Emile Cyprien Gontran, Count de Vaudrec, being sound in body and mind, hereby express my last wishes. As death