“Maitre Arbillot, you think doubtless with me, that we ought to begin operations by examining the furniture of the bedroom?” The notary inclined his head, and notified his chief clerk to remove his papers to the first floor. “Show us the way, Madame,” said the justice to the housekeeper; and the quartet of men of the law followed Manette, carrying with them a huge bunch of keys. Claudet had risen from his seat when the justice arrived. As the party moved onward, he followed hesitatingly, and then halted, uncertain how to decide between the desire to assist in the search and the fear of intruding. The notary, noticing his hesitation; called to him: “Come, you also, Claudet, are not you one of the guardians of the seals?” And they wended their silent way, up the winding staircase of the turret. The high, dark silhouette of Manette headed the procession; then followed the justice, carefully choosing his foothold on the well-worn stairs, the asthmatic old bailiff, breathing short and hard, the notary, beating his foot impatiently every time that Seurrot stopped to take breath, and finally the principal clerk and Claudet. Manette, opening noiselessly the door of the deceased’s room, entered, as if it were a church, the somewhat stifling apartment. Then she threw open the shutters, and the afternoon sun revealed an interior decorated and furnished in the style of the close of the eighteenth century. An inlaid secretary, with white marble top and copper fittings, stood near the bed, of which the coverings had been removed, showing the mattresses piled up under a down bed covered with blue-and-white check. As soon as the door was closed, the clerk settled himself at the table with his packet of stamped paper, and began to run over, in a low, rapid voice, the preliminaries of the inventory. In this confused murmuring some fragments of phrases would occasionally strike the ear: “Chateau of Vivey--deceased the eighth of October last--at the requisition of Marie-Julien de Buxieres, comptroller of direct contributions at Nancy--styling himself heir to Claude Odouart de Buxieres, his cousin-german by blood--” This last phrase elicited from Claudet a sudden movement of surprise. “The inventory,” explained Maitre Arbillot, “is drawn up at the requisition of the only heir named, to whom we must make application, if necessary, for the property left by the deceased.” There was a moment of silence, interrupted by a plaintive sigh from Manette Sejournant and afterward by the tearing sound of the sealed bands across the bureau, the drawers and pigeonholes of which were promptly ransacked by the justice and his assistant.