“There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes,” put in Remonencq.

“Can they be seen?” inquired Fraisier.

“I’ll see if he is sound asleep,” replied La Cibot.  She made a sign, and the three birds of prey came in.

“There are masterpieces yonder!” said Magus, indicating the salon, every bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke.  “But the riches are here!  And what riches!  Kings have nothing more glorious in royal treasuries.”

Remonencq’s eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the sight of the gold snuff-boxes.  Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, or some snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his viper head stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would choose for Mephistopheles.  The three covetous beings, thirsting for gold as devils thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as it chanced, at the owner of all this wealth.  Some nightmare troubled Pons; he stirred, and suddenly, under the influence of those diabolical glances, he opened his eyes with a shrill cry.

“Thieves! . . .  There they are! . . .  Help!  Murder!  Help!”

The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power to move.

Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to the spot.

“Magus here! . . .  I am betrayed!”

Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread for himself, and he awoke.  Fraisier meanwhile did not stir.

“Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?” cried Pons, shivering at the sight.

“Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?” she inquired, with a wink and gesture for Fraisier’s benefit.  “This gentleman came just a minute ago, from your family.”

Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret.  They learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to nurse you themselves.  They want you to go to Marville and get well there.  Mme. la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so much, will be your nurse.  She took your part with her mother.  She convinced Mme. de Marville that she had made a mistake.”

“So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?” Pons exclaimed indignantly, “and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you to show you the way?  Oh! a nice commission!” he cried, bursting into wild laughter.  “You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my snuff-boxes and miniatures! . . .  Make your valuation.  You have a man there who understands everything, and more—­he can buy everything, for he is a millionaire ten times over. . . .  My dear relatives will not have long to wait,” he added, with bitter irony, “they have choked the last breath out of me. . . .  Ah!  Mme. Cibot, you said you were a mother to me, and you bring dealers into the house, and my competitor and the Camusots, while I am asleep! . . .  Get out, all of you!—­”