him. The world has no honours, no riches, which can replace a mother’s love. You wish to give me in exchange, that other woman’s child. Never! What! you would have that woman embrace my boy! It is impossible. Take away this strange child from me; he fills me with horror; I want my own! Ah, do not insist, do not threaten me with anger, do not leave me. I should give in, and then, I should die. Guy, forget this fatal project, the thought of it alone is a crime. Cannot my prayers, my tears, can nothing move you? Ah, well, God will punish us. All will be discovered. The day will come when these children will demand a fearful reckoning. Guy, I foresee the future; I see my son coming towards me, justly angered. What does he say, great heaven! Oh, those letters, those letters, sweet memories of our love! My son, he threatens me! He strikes me! Ah, help! A son strike his mother. Tell no one of it, though. O my God, what torture! Yet he knows well that I am his mother. He pretends not to believe me. Lord, this is too much! Guy! pardon! oh, my only friend! I have neither the power to resist, nor the courage to obey you.”
At this moment the door opening on to the landing opened, and Noel appeared, pale as usual, but calm and composed. The dying woman saw him, and the sight affected her like an electric shock. A terrible shudder shook her frame; her eyes grew inordinately large, her hair seemed to stand on end. She raised herself on her pillows, stretched out her arm in the direction where Noel stood, and in a loud voice exclaimed, “Assassin!”
She fell back convulsively on the bed. Some one hastened forward: she was dead.
A deep silence prevailed.
Such is the majesty of death, and the terror which accompanies it, that, in its presence, even the strongest and most sceptical bow their heads.
For a time, passions and interests are forgotten. Involuntarily we are drawn together, when some mutual friend breathes his last in our presence.
All the bystanders were deeply moved by this painful scene, this last confession, wrested so to say from the delirium.
And the last word uttered by Madame Gerdy, “assassin,” surprised no one.
All, excepting the nun, knew of the awful accusation which had been made against Albert.
To him they applied the unfortunate mother’s malediction.
Noel seemed quite broken hearted. Kneeling by the bedside of her who had been as a mother to him, he took one of her hands, and pressed it close to his lips.
“Dead!” he groaned, “she is dead!”
The nun and the priest knelt beside him, and repeated in a low voice the prayers for the dead.
They implored God to shed his peace and mercy on the departed soul.
They begged for a little happiness in heaven for her who had suffered so much on earth.
Fallen into a chair, his head thrown back, the Count de Commarin was more overwhelmed and more livid than this dead woman, his old love, once so beautiful.
Claire and the doctor hastened to assist him.
They undid his cravat, and took off his shirt collar, for he was suffocating. With the help of the old soldier, whose red, tearful eyes, told of suppressed grief, they moved the count’s chair to the half-opened window to give him a little air. Three days before, this scene would have killed him. But the heart hardens by misfortune, like hands by labour.
“His tears have saved him,” whispered the doctor to Claire.
M. de Commarin gradually recovered, and, as his thoughts became clearer, his sufferings returned.
Prostration follows great mental shocks. Nature seems to collect her strength to sustain the misfortune. We do not feel all its intensity at once; it is only afterwards that we realize the extent and profundity of the evil.
The count’s gaze was fixed upon the bed where lay Valerie’s body. There, then, was all that remained of her. The soul, that soul so devoted and so tender, had flown.
What would he not have given if God would have restored that unfortunate woman to life for a day, or even for an hour? With what transports of repentance he would have cast himself at her feet, to implore her pardon, to tell her how much he detested his past conduct! How had he acknowledged the inexhaustible love of that angel? Upon a mere suspicion, without deigning to inquire, without giving her a hearing, he had treated her with the coldest contempt. Why had he not seen her again? He would have spared himself twenty years of doubt as to Albert’s birth. Instead of an isolated existence, he would have led a happy, joyous life.
Then he remembered the countess’s death. She also had loved him, and had died of her love.
He had not understood them; he had killed them both.
The hour of expiation had come; and he could not say: “Lord, the punishment is too great.”
And yet, what punishment, what misfortunes, during the last five days!
“Yes,” he stammered, “she predicted it. Why did I not listen to her?”
Madame Gerdy’s brother pitied the old man, so severely tried. He held out his hand.
“M. de Commarin,” he said, in a grave, sad voice, “my sister forgave you long ago, even if she ever had any ill feeling against you. It is my turn today; I forgive you sincerely.”
“Thank you, sir,” murmured the count, “thank you!” and then he added: “What a death!”
“Yes,” murmured Claire, “she breathed her last in the idea that her son was guilty of a crime. And we were not able to undeceive her.”
“At least,” cried the count, “her son should be free to render her his last duties; yes, he must be. Noel!”
The advocate had approached his father, and heard all.
“I have promised, father,” he replied, “to save him.”
For the first time, Mademoiselle d’Arlange was face to face with Noel. Their eyes met, and she could not restrain a movement of repugnance, which the advocate perceived.
“Albert is already saved,” she said proudly. “What we ask is, that prompt justice shall be done him; that he shall be immediately set at liberty. The magistrate now knows the truth.”
“The truth?” exclaimed the advocate.
“Yes; Albert passed at my house, with me, the evening the crime was committed.”
Noel looked at her surprised; so singular a confession from such a mouth, without explanation, might well surprise him.
She drew herself up haughtily.
“I am Mademoiselle Claire d’Arlange, sir,” said she.
M. de Commarin now quickly ran over all the incidents reported by Claire.
When he had finished, Noel replied: “You see, sir, my position at this moment, tomorrow —”
“To-morrow?” interrupted the count, “you said, I believe, tomorrow! Honour demands, sir, that we act today, at this moment. You can show your love for this poor woman much better by delivering her son than by praying
