One morning, an irresistible impulse drove Eusebe to visit Adéonne.
“Jenny,” said he, on entering the house, “where is madame?”
“Madame is dead,” replied the girl, beginning to weep.
Eusebe threw himself on a divan, and for two hours patiently waited
an effusion of his grief in tears. His heart beat violently, and
his throat seemed parched; but no tears came to his relief. Jenny
had at first regarded Eusebe with anger, for his desertion had
caused her mistress’s untimely end. But the depth of his sorrow
touched her pity.
“Monsieur,” said the girl, producing a small steel casket, “I was
about to write you, in order to fulfil the last wishes of my poor
mistress. She said to me, ‘One week after my death, take this to
Eusebe.’ Here it is, monsieur: here it is.” And the girl sobbed
more bitterly than ever.
Eusebe took the casket, looked at it fixedly for a moment, and
then opened it with a key he found behind the frame of Adéonne’s
portrait. In the box there was a letter. Eusebe broke the seal with
a trembling hand, and read:--
“MY DEAR EUSEBE:--
“When you read this ugly letter, I shall be dead; my love for you
will have killed me. Weep for me, but do not pity me. I prefer
to die of this love than from any other cause. I feel myself
gradually sinking, yet I experience a certain joy in thinking
that it is for you I am about to part with life. If you only knew
how good it is to love so wildly and so faithfully! Marie Bachu
has endeavored to console me with her pity and her reasoning: how
foolish!
“What follows, my dear Eusebe, I wish you to regard as my
last will and testament. I bequeath to you my ring, set with
turquoise and brilliants; it was the first article I purchased
with money I had earned. You will find in one of my drawers my
other jewels, in little packets, with names written upon them.
These are _souvenirs_ for my companions of the theatre. You will
give my watch and chain to Madame Marignan, my dresser, and pay
forty-two francs that I owe to Adolphe, the _coiffeur_. You will
wear mourning for me for at least a month, will you not, my
dear Eusebe? you can say at home that you have lost a cousin. I
have seen your wife: she is beautiful, but her beauty will not
remind you of Adéonne. Give all my dresses and linen to Jenny,
my maid, and, also, two thousand francs, upon condition that she
marry her lover. When you have done all this, and sold all my
furniture, you will have about fifteen thousand francs. Go to
Strasburg and seek out a turner in wood, named Antoine Krutger.
If you find him, ask him if he was not a sutler in a regiment of
chasseurs, at Saumur, twenty-two years ago. If he should reply
in the affirmative, give him all the money. He is my father,--a
respectable man, who would have despised me, if he had known how
I was living. If he be dead, give the money to his children.
Are they not my brothers and sisters? And now, my dear Eusebe,
farewell forever. I have loved you,--oh, I cannot tell you how I
have loved you; and I embrace you now as I embraced you the day
you wished to purchase me. Farewell forever!
“ADÉONNE.
“P.S.--I ask pardon for the trouble I give you; I am yours for
life, but that will not be long.”
Eusebe sobbed and moaned. After having read and reread Adéonne’s
letter, he summoned Jenny.
“Jenny,” said he, “madame has not forgotten you: she has left you a
dowry.”
“How, monsieur? Then I can return to my native town. Ah! monsieur,
poor madame was so good.”
“From what town are you?” inquired Eusebe.
“From Strasburg.”
“Did madame know you were from Strasburg?”
“No, monsieur. In Paris, Alsatians have difficulty in procuring
places. Upon coming here, I said I was from Nancy.”
“Did you ever hear of a turner named Antoine Krutger?”
“Antoine Krutger!” exclaimed the girl. “Did you know him? He was my
father.”
“Was he ever attached to the army?”
“Oh, yes, monsieur: he served in the cavalry at Saumur. If he had
lived, I should have been better off than I am.”
“My girl,” said Eusebe, after a pause, “all that is here belongs
to you. Madame has made you her sole legatee.”
“Ah, monsieur!” exclaimed Jenny, weeping with joy and sorrow, “I
am very happy and very unhappy at the same time. I had no need of
this to make me love madame like a sister.”