In the opposite angle of the chimney-place, a lad of twenty-four years, no other than Claudet, called by the friendly nickname of the grand chasserot, kept company with the notary, while he toyed, in an absent fashion, with the silky ears of a spaniel, whose fluffy little head lay in his lap. Behind him, Manette Sejournant stood putting away her shawl and prayerbook in a closet. A mass had been said in the morning at the church, for the repose of the soul of the late Claude de Buxieres, and mother and son had donned their Sunday garments to assist at the ceremony. Claudet appeared ill at ease in his black, tightly buttoned suit, and kept his eyes with their heavy lids steadily bent upon the head of the animal. To all the notary’s questions, he replied only by monosyllables, passing his fingers every now and then through his bushy brown locks, and twining them in his forked beard, a sure indication with him of preoccupation and bad humor. Manette had acquired with years an amount of embonpoint which detracted materially from the supple and undulating beauty which had so captivated Claude de Buxieres. The imprisonment of a tight corset caused undue development of the bust at the expense of her neck and throat, which seemed disproportionately short and thick. Her cheeks had lost their gracious curves and her double chin was more pronounced. All that remained of her former attractions were the caressing glance of her eye, tresses still golden and abundant, especially as seen under the close cap of black net, white teeth, and a voice that had lost nothing of its insinuating sweetness. As the justice and his bailiff entered, Maitre Arbillot, and a petulant little man with squirrel-like eyes and a small moustache, arose quickly. “Good-morning, gentlemen,” he cried. “I was anxiously expecting you--if you are willing, we will begin our work at once, for at this season night comes on quickly.” “At your orders, Maitre Arbillot,” replied the justice, laying his hat down carefully on the window-sill; “we shall draw out the formula for raising the seals. By the way, has no will yet been found?” “None to my knowledge. It is quite clear to me that the deceased made no testament, none at least before a notary.” “But,” objected M. Destourbet, “he may have executed a holograph testament.” “It is certain, gentlemen,” interrupted Manette, with her soft, plaintive voice, “that our dear gentleman did not go without putting his affairs in order. ‘Manette,’ said he, not more than two weeks ago; ‘I do not intend you shall be worried, neither you nor Claudet, when I am no longer here. All shall be arranged to your satisfaction.’ Oh! he certainly must have put down his last wishes on paper. Look well around, gentlemen; you will find a will in some drawer or other.” While she applied her handkerchief ostentatiously to her nose and wiped her eyes, the justice exchanged glances with the notary.