“Neither; I am a lodger here, and do not even claim acquaintance with the family.”
“No matter,” resumed he, dryly, “you will do as well as another; give me pen and paper.”
I took some from an open portfolio on the table and laid it before him, and he wrote rapidly a few lines in a straggling hand:—
“The citizen Louis Bernois, age—; domiciled, Rue Neuve de Viardot, No. 318, avocat,”—“we may call him avocat, though he was only a writer,” said he, looking up,—“wounded fatally in the lungs and heart, and attended till his death, on this morning, by the doctor Joseph Caillot, surgeon and licentiate. The above verified by me.”—“Sign here,” added he, handing me the pen, “and put your quality. Say, 'Friend of the family.'”
“But I never knew them; I have only lodged in the house for some months back.”
“What signifies that? It is a mere form for the authorities, to whom his death must be reported, or his family exposed to trouble and annoyance. I will take it to the bureau myself.”
I signed my name, therefore, as he directed me, and sealed the “act” with a seal I found on the table. The doctor pocketed the paper and withdrew, not even bestowing on me a good-bye as he left the room.
Lizette came to me for instructions as to what was to be done. Madame had never recovered consciousness from the very first moment of the misfortune; mademoiselle was too young and too inexperienced to be consulted on the occasion. The family, too, had only been a few months in Paris, and had no acquaintance save with the tradespeople they dealt with.
I asked the name of the avocat for whom he usually transcribed the deeds and papers, and learned that it was a certain Monsieur le Monnier, a lawyer of high standing at the bar of Paris, and who lived in the Rue Quincampoix! With what a strange sensation I heard the name of that street, which was the same that Herr Robert spoke of as inhabited by his father in the days of his greatest prosperity! The thought merely shot through my head rapidly, for other and far more pressing considerations demanded all my attention. I resolved at once to call on Monsieur le Monnier and ask his advice and guidance in the difficult position I then found myself. Dressing myself with all the care my scanty wardrobe permitted, I set out for the Rue Quincampoix, and soon found the house, which was a large and spacious though somewhat sombre-looking hôtel, with a half-effaced shield over the doorway. The porter inquired if I came on business; and on my saying “Yes,” informed me that I must call on the following morning, from eleven to two o'clock,—that the “bâtonnier,” for such was his rank, did not transact affairs in the evening.
I argued and pressed my suit with all zeal; but it was only when I produced a piece of two francs that he consented to present my card, on which I had written a few lines to explain the urgent cause of my visit.