“’And I declare before
the Supreme Judge who hears me, that I should
have cursed heaven and my own existence, if I had not
met my lover’s deep, devoted, tender, unshaken
affection, if I had not felt in his arms that
the Creator made His creatures to love, sustain
and console each other, and to weep together in the
hours of sadness.
“’Monsieur de Courcils
is the father of my two eldest sons; Rene alone
owes his life to Monsieur de Bourneval. I pray
to the Master of men and of their destinies,
to place father and son above social prejudices,
to make them love each other until they die, and to
love me also in my coffin.
“’These
are my last thoughts, and my last wish.
“‘MATHILDE
DE CROIXLUCE.’”
“’Monsieur de Courcils had arisen and
he cried:
“‘It is the will of a mad woman.’
“Then Monsieur de Bourneval stepped forward
and said in a loud and penetrating voice: ’I,
Simon de Bourneval, solemnly declare that this writing
contains nothing but the strict truth, and I am ready
to prove it by letters which I possess.’
“On hearing that, Monsieur de Courcils went
up to him, and I thought they were going to collar
each other. There they stood, both of them tall,
one stout and the other thin, both trembling.
My mother’s husband stammered out: ‘You
are a worthless wretch!’ And the other replied
in a loud, dry voice: ’We will meet somewhere
else, monsieur. I should have already slapped
your ugly face, and challenged you a long time ago,
if I had not, before everything else, thought of the
peace of mind of that poor woman whom you made suffer
so much during her lifetime.’
“Then, turning to me, he said: ’You
are my son; will you come with me? I have no
right to take you away, but I shall assume it, if you
will kindly come with me.’ I shook his
hand without replying, and we went out together; I
was certainly three parts mad.
“Two days later Monsieur de Bourneval killed
Monsieur de Courcils in a duel. My brothers,
fearing some terrible scandal, held their tongues,
and I offered them, and they accepted, half the fortune
which my mother had left me. I took my real father’s
name, renouncing that which the law gave me, but which
was not really mine. Monsieur de Bourneval died
three years afterwards, and I have not consoled myself
yet.”
He rose from his chair, walked up and down the room,
and, standing in front of me, he said:
“Well, I say that my mother’s will was
one of the most beautiful and loyal, as well as one
of the grandest acts that a woman could perform.
Do you not think so?”
I gave him both my hands:
“Most certainly I do, my friend.”
For five months they had been talking of going to
lunch at some country restaurant in the neighborhood
of Paris, on Madame Dufour’s birthday, and as
they were looking forward very impatiently to the outing,
they had got up very early that morning. Monsieur
Dufour had borrowed the milkman’s tilted cart,
and drove himself. It was a very tidy, two-wheeled
conveyance, with a hood, and in it the wife, resplendent
in a wonderful, sherry-colored, silk dress, sat by
the side of her husband.
