Ramin, though otherwise of a
violent temper, had the meekness of a lamb. He bore the treatment
of his host with the meekest patience, and having first locked the
door so as to make sure that Marguerite would not interrupt them, he
watched Monsieur Bonelle attentively, and satisfied himself that the
Excellent Opportunity he had been ardently longing for had arrived:
"He is going fast," he thought; "and unless I settle the agreement
to-night, and get it drawn up and signed to-morrow, it will be too
late."

"My dear friend," he at length said aloud, on perceiving that the old
gentleman had fairly exhausted himself and was lying panting on his
back, "you are indeed a lamentable instance of the lengths to which
the greedy lust of lucre will carry our poor human nature. It is
really distressing to see Marguerite, a faithful, attached servant,
suddenly converted into a tormenting harpy by the prospect of a
legacy! Lawyers and priests flock around you like birds of prey,
drawn hither by the scent of gold! Oh, the miseries of having delicate
health combined with a sound constitution and large property!"

"Ramin," groaned the old man, looking inquiringly into his visitor's
face, "you are again going to talk to me about that annuity--I know
you are!"

"My excellent friend, it is merely to deliver you from a painful
position."

"I am sure, Ramin, you think in your soul I am dying," whimpered
Monsieur Bonelle.

"Absurd, my dear sir. Dying? I will prove to you that you have never
been in better health. In the first place you feel no pain."

"Excepting from rheumatism," groaned Monsieur Bonelle.

"Rheumatism! who ever died of rheumatism? and if that be all--"

"No, it is not all," interrupted the old man with great irritability;
"what would you say to the gout getting higher and higher up every
day?"

"The gout is rather disagreeable, but if there is nothing else--"

"Yes, there is something else," sharply said Monsieur Bonelle. "There
is an asthma that will scarcely let me breathe, and a racking pain in
my head that does not allow me a moment's ease. But if you think I am
dying, Ramin, you are quite mistaken."

"No doubt, my dear friend, no doubt; but in the meanwhile suppose we
talk of this annuity. Shall we say one thousand francs a year."

"What!" asked Bonelle, looking at him very fixedly.

"My dear friend, I mistook; I meant two thousand francs per annum,"
hurriedly rejoined Ramin.

Monsieur Bonelle closed hi