The notary shuddered.

"A little repose will relieve you, I hope," said the cure. "I leave you;
but before I go, I wish to give you a receipt for this money. Come, take
courage, be of good cheer!" said the priest, handing the receipt, which he
wrote at the desk, to Jacques Ferrand. "Farewell; tomorrow I will call and
see you again. Adieu, sir--adieu, my friend, my worthy, pious friend!"

The priest went out, and Jacques Ferrand and Polidori remained alone.
Hardly had the abbe gone than Jacques Ferrand uttered a terrible
imprecation. His despair and rage, so long restrained, burst forth with
fury; breathless, his face convulsed, his eyes rolling in their sockets, he
walked up and down in the cabinet like a wild beast confined by a chain.
Polidori, presenting the greatest composure, observed the notary
attentively.

"Thunder and blood!" cried Jacques, in a voice choked with rage; "my
fortune entirely swallowed up in these stupid good works! I, who despise
and execrate men; I, who have only lived to deceive and despoil them; I
found philanthropic establishments--to be forced to do it by infernal
means! But is it the devil, then, who is your master?" he cried, with fury,
stopping abruptly before Polidori.

"I have no master," he answered, coldly. "Like you, I have a judge!"

"To obey like a fool the orders of this man!" said Jacques Ferrand, with
renewed rage. "And this priest, whom I have so often laughed at, because he
was the dupe of my hypocrisy; every one of the praises he gave me was like
a thrust with a dagger. And to be compelled--"