"But your estates?" I said; "your property which I have inherited?"
"Have you paid the registration fees?" he asked me, in a serious tone.
"Certainly I have, uncle."
"Well! Do you want to put me to double expense for the benefit of the
government, which will make you pay it all over again at my real death?"
"What is it you mean to do, then?" said I.
"You shall keep them! Now's your turn," he added, in a chaffing tone;
"all these forty years I have had the worry of them; it's your turn now,
young man! You shall manage them, and make them your business; it will
be for you now to pay my expenses and all that!"
"I hope you don't dream of such a thing, my dear uncle!" I exclaimed.
"Why even, supposing that I continue to manage your property----"
"Excuse me," he said, "your property! It is yours, the fees having
been duly paid."
"Well, our property, if you like," I replied, with a laugh; "all the
same, I repeat you cannot remain smitten with civil death."
"Bah! Bah! Political notions! But first explain to me how I come to be
dead--that puzzles me."
I then related to him what I have told you of this strange story; the
notary's letter informing me of the cruel news brought by my uncle's
lieutenant Rabassu, confirmed by the most authentic documents, and
accompanied by a portfolio containing all his papers and letters,
securities in his name, and agreements signed by him; proving, in short,
an identity which it was impossible to dispute.
"My papers!" he exclaimed. "They were not lost then?"
"I have them all," I replied.
"I begin to understand! It's all the fault of that stupid Lefébure."
"Who is this Lefébure?" I asked.
"I am going to tell you," replied my uncle; "the whole thing explains
itself and becomes clear.--But I wonder, did not Rabassu with the news
of my death bring some camels?"
"Not a single camel, uncle."
"That's odd! However, sit down, and I will tell you all about it."
I sat down, and my uncle gave me the following narrative. I write it out
for you faithfully, my dear Louis; but what I cannot render for you, is
the inimitable tone of tranquillity in which he related it, just as if
he were describing a fête at a neighbouring village.