"Yes," she continued, with a smile, "the contract has not been signed.
Our friend Laubépin drew it up in such a way that the husband was not
able to touch a penny of the wife's money. M. Bévallan objected to this;
while he and his lawyer were arguing the matter with Laubépin,
Marguerite rose up.
"'Throw the contract in the fire,' she said, 'and, mother, give this
gentleman back the presents he sent to me.'
"Laubépin threw the deed in the flames, and Marguerite and her mother
walked out of the room.
"'What is the meaning of this?' cried Bévallan.
"'I will tell you,' I answered. 'A certain young lady was afraid that
you were merely a fortune-hunter. She wanted to be certain of it, and
now she is so.'
"Thereupon I, too, left the room.
"But what is the matter with you, my dear boy? You are as pale as a
corpse."
The fact was that the unexpected news aroused in me such a mixture of
joyful and painful feelings that I fell back in a swoon. When I
recovered, dear old Laubépin was standing by my bed.
"Will you not confide in me, my boy?" he said rather sadly. "Something,
I can see, has happened which has made you miserable on the very day on
which you should be full of joy. What is it?"
Moved by his sympathy, I gave him this diary to read, and poured out my
very soul to him.
"It is useless for me," he said at last, "to conceal from you the fact
that I sent you here with the design to marry you to Marguerite.
Everything at first went as well as I could wish, and Madame Laroque was
delighted with the match. You and Marguerite were made for each other,
and you fell in love almost at first sight. But this affair at the
Castle of Elven is something I had not reckoned on. To leap out of the
window at the risk of breaking your neck was, my romantic young friend,
a sufficient demonstration of your disinterestedness. You need not have
taken a solemn oath never to marry Marguerite until you were as rich as
she is. What can you do now? You cannot forswear yourself, and you
cannot suddenly make an immense fortune."
"I must depart with you," I said very sorrowfully. "There is no other
way."
"No, Maxime," he replied, "you are too unwell to move. Remain here for
one month longer; then, if you do not hear from me, return to Paris."
It is now a week since he left me, and I have seen no one for the last
seven days but the servant who waits upon me. He tells me that Laroque
has died, and that Marguerite and her mother, who have been tending him
night and day, have worn themselves out, and are now laid up with some
sort of fever. Mlle. de Porhoet is also very ill, and not expected to
live. Since I am well enough to walk over to Mlle. de Porhoet. I am told
that she keeps asking to see me.
_V.--Two in a Garden_
The little maid who came to open the door was weeping, and as I came in
I was surprised to hear the voice of Laubépin.
"It is Maxime, Marguerite," he said.
Had Marguerite also risen up from a bed of sickness to see Mlle. de
Porhoet? I sprang up the stairs, and entered the room.
"My poor, dear boy!" said Mlle. de Porhoet, in a strange, broken voice.
She was lying in bed. Laubépin, a priest, and a doctor were standing on
one side, and Marguerite and her mother were kneeling down in prayer on
the other. I saw at once that she was at the point of death, and knelt
down beside Marguerite. The poor dying woman smiled faintly, and groped
for my hand and put it in Marguerite's, and then fell back on the
pillow. She was dead.
Laubépin led me out of the room, and put a document in my hand. It was a
will, and the ink on it was hardly dry. Mlle. de Porhoet had made me her
heir.
"How good of her!" I said to Laubépin. "I shall treasure her testament
as a mark of her love for me. I will settle her little estate on my
sister. It will at least keep Hélène from having to go out into the
world as a governess."
"And it will keep you, my friend, from having to go out into the world
as a steward," said Laubépin, with a smile. "Don't you remember that
document about the Spanish succession which you discovered and sent to
me? We have won the law-suit, and you are the heir to an estate in Spain
which will make you one of the richest men in France."
I went into the garden to think over my strange fortune. How long I sat
there in the darkness I do not know. On rising up, I heard a faint sound
beneath one of the trees, and a beloved form emerged from the foliage,
and stood against the starry sky.
"Marguerite!" I cried, running up to her with outstretched arm.
She murmured my name, and as I clasped her her lips sought mine, and we
poured our souls out in a kiss.
* * * * *
I have given Hélène half of my fortune. Marguerite is my wife, and I
close these pages for ever, having nothing more to confide to them. It
can be said of men, as it has been said of nations, "Happy are those
that have no story."
* * * * *