Three persons, whose countenances were not unknown to him, signaled him an invitation to enter the last coach with them; Arthur took his seat and followed the procession, first to the church, then to the cemetery, without uttering a word; he could not, however, master some remorseful feelings that he had not been with his uncle in his last moments. They reached the burial-place; after that ceremony, that is ever a sad one, even for those not directly concerned, after they had lowered the coffin into the grave and had strewn upon it a few shovelfuls of earth that fell with a hollow sound upon the box of pine, a gentleman dressed in black came forward, blew his nose, and, in a voice that trembled, as much from the embarrassment of speaking in public as from grief, pronounced the eulogy of the deceased.
This face also was not unfamiliar to Arthur; it occurred to him that this young man, more fortunate than he, or less hare-brained, was his uncle's heir.
"Gentlemen," said the orator, "when we speak of death, it may be said that it is those who remain that feel the affliction most keenly; the friend whose loss we mourn is gone above to occupy that place in heaven that his virtues have earned for him, while we remain here below to shed our tears for him."
"There is no doubt about it," thought Arthur; "my uncle has left him his Bayeux property."
"No one," continued the heir, "obeyed more implicitly this precept of the Gospel: 'Let not thy left hand know that which thy right hand doeth.' It is for that reason that the poor, not knowing whence came the numerous benefactions that be scattered with
