When he arrived he found everything in the greatest confusion. On entering the house he ran against the apothecary, who was coming down stairs, with a face as long as your arm; and a few steps farther he met the housekeeper--for the wine-dealer was an old bachelor--running up and down, and wringing her hands, for fear that the good man should die without making his will. He soon reached the chamber of his sick friend, and found him tossing about in a paroxysm of fever and calling aloud for a draught of cold water. The notary shook his head. He thought this a fatal symptom. For ten years back the wine-dealer had been suffering under a species of hydrophobia, which seemed suddenly to have left him. When the sick man saw who stood by his bedside, he stretched out his hand and exclaimed: “Ah! my dear friend! have you come at last? You see it is all over with me. You have arrived just in time to draw up that--that passport of mine. Ah, _grand diable!_ how hot it is here! Water--water--water! Will nobody give me a drop of cold water?” As the case was an urgent one, the notary made no delay in getting his papers in readiness; and in a short time the last will and testament of the wine-dealer was drawn up in due form, the notary guiding the sick man’s hand as he scrawled his signature at the bottom. As the evening wore away, the wine-dealer grew worse and worse, and at length became delirious, mingling in his incoherent ravings the phrases of the Credo and Paternoster with the shibboleth of the dram-shop and the card-table. “Take care! take care! There, now--_Credo in_--pop! ting-a-ling-ling! give me some of that. Cent-é-dize! Why, you old publican, this wine is poisoned--I know your tricks!--_Sanctam ecclesiam Catholicam_--Well, well, we shall see. Imbecile! to have a tierce-major and a seven of hearts, and discard the seven! By St. Anthony, capot! You are lurched--ha! ha! I told you so. I knew very well--there--there--don’t interrupt me--_Carnis resurrectionem et vitam eternam!_” With these words upon his lips the poor wine-dealer expired. Meanwhile the notary sat cowering over the fire, aghast at the fearful scene that was passing before him, and now and then striving to keep up his courage by a glass of cognac. Already his fears were on the alert, and the idea of contagion flitted to and fro through his mind. In order to quiet these thoughts of evil import, he lighted his pipe, and began to prepare for returning home. At that moment the apothecary turned round to him and said: “Dreadful sickly time, this! The disorder seems to be spreading.” “What disorder?” exclaimed the notary, with a movement of surprise. “Two died yesterday, and three to-day,” continued the apothecary, without answering the question. “Very sickly time, sir--very.” “But what disorder is it? What disease has carried off my friend here so suddenly?” “What disease? Why, scarlet fever, to be sure.” “And is it contagious?” “Certainly.”