s eyes, and appeared to fall into a gentle
slumber. The mercer coughed; the sick man never moved.

"Monsieur Bonelle."

No reply.

"My excellent friend."

Utter silence.

"Are you asleep?"

A long pause.

"Well, then, what do you say to three thousand?"

Monsieur Bonelle opened his eyes.

"Ramin," said he, sententiously, "you are a fool; the house brings me
in four thousand as it is."

This was quite false, and the mercer knew it; but he had his own
reasons for wishing to seem to believe it true.

"Good Heavens!" said he, with an air of great innocence, "who could
have thought it, and the lodgers constantly running away. Four
thousand? Well, then, you shall have four thousand."

Monsieur Bonelle shut his eyes once more, and murmured "The mere
rental--nonsense!" He then folded his hands on his breast, and
appeared to compose himself to sleep.

"Oh, what a sharp man of business he is!" Ramin said, admiringly:
but for once omnipotent flattery failed in its effect: "So acute!"
continued he, with a stealthy glance at the old man, who remained
perfectly unmoved.

"I see you will insist upon making it the other five hundred francs."

Monsieur Ramin said this as if five thousand five hundred francs had
already been mentioned, and was the very summit of Monsieur Bonelle's
ambition. But the ruse failed in its effect; the sick man never so
much as stirred.

"But, my dear friend," urged Monsieur Ramin in a tone of feeling
remonstrance, "there is such a thing as being too sharp, too acute.
How can you expect that I shall give you more when your constitution
is so good, and you are to be such a long liver?"

"Yes, but I may be carried off one of these days," quietly observed
the old man, evidently wishing to turn the chance of his own death to
account.

"Indeed, and I hope so," muttered the mercer, who was getting very
ill-tempered.

"You see," soothingly continued Bonelle, "you are so good a man of
business, Ramin, that you will double the actual value of the house
in no time. I am a quiet, easy person, indifferent to money; otherwise
this house would now bring me in eight thousand at the very least."

"Eight thousand!" indignantly exclaimed the mercer. "Monsieur Bonelle,
you have no conscience. Come now, my dear friend, do be reasonable.
Six thousand francs a year (I don't mind saying six) is really a very
handsome income for a man of your quiet habits. Come, be reasonable."
But Monsieur Bonelle turned