"There is a will in existence which I now cancel. I made it when I was a younger man. I left my fortune to my son Leon de Mogente. To my daughter Juanita de Mogente I left a sufficiency. I wish now to make a will in favour of my son Leon"--he paused while the notary's quill pen ran over the paper--"on one condition."
"On one condition"--wrote the notary, who had leant forward, but sat upright rather suddenly in obedience to a signal from Evasio Mon in the doorway. He had forgotten his tonsure.
"That he does not go into religion--that he devotes no part of it to the benefit or advantage of the church."
The notary sat very straight while he wrote this down.
"My son is in Saragossa," said Mogente suddenly, with a change of manner. "I will see him. Send for him."
The notary glanced up at Evasio Mon, who shook his head.
"I cannot send for him at two in the morning."
"Then I will sign no will."
"Sign the will now," suggested the lawyer, with a look of doubt towards the dark doorway behind the sick man's head. "Sign now, and see your son to-morrow."
"There is no to-morrow, my friend. Send for my son at once."