The cackle of the apprentice rose above the whining voice. "Murder, too
--don't forget the murder, master. The Connetable told the old Sieur de
Mauprat what people were blabbing, and in half-hour dead he is--he."

"Et ben, the Sieur's blood it is upon their heads," continued the Master
of Burials; "it will rise up from the ground--"

The apprentice interrupted. "A good thing if the Sieur himself doesn't
rise, for you'd get naught for coffin or obs'quies. It was you tells the
Connetable what folks babbled, and the Connetable tells the Sieur, and
the Sieur it kills him dead. So if he rised, he'd not pay you for
murdering him--no, bidemme! And 'tis a gobbly mouthful--this," he added,
holding up the bill.

The undertaker's lips smacked softly, as though in truth he were waiting
for the mouthful. Rubbing his hands, and drawing his lean leg up till it
touched his nose, he looked over it with avid eyes, and said: "How much--
don't read the items, but come to total debit--how much she pays me?"

Ma'm'selle Landresse, debtor in all for one hundred and twenty livres,
eleven sols and two farthings.

Shan't you make it one hundred and twenty-one livres?" added the
apprentice.

"God forbid, the odd sols and farthings are mine--no more!" returned the
Master of Burials. "Also they look exact; but the courage it needs to be
honest! O my grief, if--"

"'Sh!" said the apprentice, pointing, and the Master of Burials, turning,