Lately, your poor uncle, not being able to stir round, has trusted me to go and collect the rents of his house, rue Notre-Dame de Nazareth, and the arrears of his dividends at the Treasury, which come to eighteen hundred francs." By this time the widow Cardinal's eyes were becoming fixed instead of wandering.
"Yes, my dear," continued Perrache, a hump-backed little concierge; "and, seeing that you are the only person who ever thinks about him, and that you come and see him sometimes, and bring him fish, perhaps he may make a bequest in your favor.

My wife, who has been nursing him for the last few days since he has been so ill, spoke to him of you, but he wouldn't have you told about his illness.

But now, don't you see, it is high time you should show yourself there.

It is pretty nigh two months since he has been able to attend to business." "You may well think, you old thief," replied Madame Cardinal, hurrying at top speed toward the rue Honore-Chevalier, where her uncle lived in a wretched garret, "that the hair would grow on my hand before I could ever imagine that.

What! my uncle Toupillier rich! the old pauper of the church of Saint-Sulpice!" "Ah!" returned the porter, "but he fed well.