Belotti was standing in the entry, no longer attired in the silk hose and satin-bordered cloth garments of the steward, but in a plain burgher dress.  He told the musician and Peter, that he remained in Leyden principally because he could not bear to leave the sick maid, Denise, in the lurch; but other matters also detained him, especially, though he was reluctant to acknowledge it, the feeling, strengthened by long years of service, that he belonged to the Hoogstraten house.  The dead woman’s attorney had said that his account books were in good order, and willingly paid the balance due him.  His savings had been well invested, and as he never touched the interest, but added to the capital, had considerably increased.  Nothing detained him in Leyden, yet he could not leave it until everything was settled in the house where he had so long ruled.

He had daily inquired for the sick lady, and after her death, though Denise began to recover, still lingered in Leyden; he thought it his duty to show the last honors to the dead by attending her funeral.

The magistrates were glad to find Belotti in the house.  The notary had managed his little property, and respected him as an honest man.  He now asked him to act as guide to his companions and himself.  The most important matter was to find the dead woman’s will.  Such a document must be in existence, for up to the day after Henrica’s illness it had been in the lawyer’s possession, but was then sent for by the old lady, who desired to make some changes in it.  He could give no information about its contents, for his dead partner, whose business had fallen to him, had assisted in drawing it up.

The steward first conducted the visitors to the padrona’s sitting-room and boudoir, but though they searched the writing-tables, chests and drawers, and discovered many letters, money and valuable jewels in boxes and caskets, the document was not found.

The gentlemen thought it was concealed in a secret drawer, and ordered one of the constables to call a locksmith.  Belotti allowed this to be done, but meantime listened with special attention to the low chanting that issued from the bedroom where the old lady’s body lay.  He knew that the will would most probably be found there, but was anxious to have the priest complete the consecration of his mistress undisturbed.  As soon as all was still in the death-chamber, he asked the gentlemen to follow him.

The lofty apartment into which he led them, was filled with the odor of incense.  A large bedstead, over which a pointed canopy of heavy silk rose to the ceiling, stood at the back, the coffin in which the dead woman lay had been placed in the middle of the room.  A linen cloth, trimmed with lace, covered the face.  The delicate hands, still unwrinkled, were folded, and lightly clasped a well-worn rosary.  The lifeless form was concealed beneath a costly coverlid, in the centre of which lay an exquisitely-carved ivory crucifix.