“Yes, I should say he is,” replied Preciozi. “Your sister and you will be the only heirs,” said Cittadella.
“Of course,” agreed Preciozi.
“Has he made a will?” asked Cæsar.
“All the better if he hasn’t,” said one of the abbés.
“If we could only poison him,” sighed Cæsar, with melancholy.
“Don’t talk of such things just as we are going to eat,” said Preciozi.
The dinner was brought, and the two abbés did it the honour it deserved.
Preciozi deserved congratulations for his excellent selection. They ordered good wines and drank merry toasts.
“What an admirable secretary Preciozi would be, if I got to be a personage!” exclaimed Cæsar. “Twenty thousand francs or so salary, his board, and the duty of choosing the dinner for the next day. That’s my proposal.”
The abbé blushed with pleasure, emptied his glass of wine, and murmured: