ular hour
every day, and received reprimands.

Formerly they had been almost happy, but their occupation humiliated
them since they had begun to set a higher value on themselves, and their
disgust increased while they were mutually glorifying and spoiling each
other. Pecuchet contracted Bouvard's bluntness, and Bouvard assumed a
little of Pecuchet's moroseness.

"I have a mind to become a mountebank in the streets!" said one to the
other.

"As well to be a rag-picker!" exclaimed his friend.

What an abominable situation! And no way out of it. Not even the hope of
it!

One afternoon (it was the 20th of January, 1839) Bouvard, while at his
desk, received a letter left by the postman.

He lifted up both hands; then his head slowly fell back, and he sank on
the floor in a swoon.

The clerks rushed forward; they took off his cravat; they sent for a
physician. He re-opened his eyes; then, in answer to the questions they
put to him:

"Ah! the fact is----the fact is----A little air will relieve me. No; let
me alone. Kindly give me leave to go out."

And, in spite of his corpulence, he rushed, all breathless, to the
Admiralty office, and asked for Pecuchet.

Pecuchet appeared.

"My uncle is dead! I am his heir!"

"It isn't possible!"

Bouvard showed him the following lines:

OFFICE OF MAITRE TARDIVEL, NOTARY.

_Savigny-en-Septaine, 14th January, 1839._

SIR,--I beg of you to call at my office in order to take
notice there of the will of your natural father, M.
Francois-Denys-Bartholomee Bouvard, ex-merchant in the town
of Nantes, who died in this parish on the 10th of the
present month. This will contains a very important
disposition in your favour.

TARDIVEL, _Notary_.

Pecuchet was obliged to sit down on a boundary-stone in the courtyard
outside the office.

Then he returned the paper, saying slowly:

"Provided that this is not--some practical joke."

"You think it is a farce!" replied Bouvard, in a stifled voice like the
rattling in the throat of a dying man.

But the postmark, the name of the notary's office in printed characters,
the notary's own signature, all proved the genuineness of the news; and
they regarded each other with a trembling at the corners of their mouths
and tears in their staring eyes.

They wanted space to breathe freely. They went to the Arc de Triomphe,
came back by the water's edge, and passed beyond Notre Dame. Bouvard was
very