arm, and by Savinien, her gentle protector. And thus, in spite of the wisest precautions, the mistrustful lawyer found he was in the right; he was to see Ursule without a fortune and struggling with the heirs.
The next night, the whole town was present at the obsequies of Doctor Minoret. When the behavior of the heirs toward his adopted daughter was known, the great majority considered it natural and necessary; it was a question of an inheritance, the old man was close; Ursule might imagine she had rights, the heirs were defending their property, and besides, she had humiliated them enough during the life of their uncle, who used to receive them very badly. Désiré Minoret, who was not doing wonders in his situation, so said those who envied the postmaster, arrived for the service. Ursule was in bed, incapable of attending the funeral, the victim of a nervous fever caused as much by the insult of the heirs as by her deep affliction.
“Just look at that hypocrite crying!” said some of the heirs, pointing to Savinien, who was keenly grieved at the doctor’s death.
“The point is whether he has reason to cry,” observed Goupil. “Don’t be in a hurry to laugh, the seals are not removed.”
“Bah!” said Minoret, who knew what to think about that, “you have always frightened us for nothing.”
Just as the funeral left the church for the cemetery, Goupil had to swallow a bitter draught; he
