"Faith," he answered, "it was in September of last year; just six months
ago. I married them myself. Poor Sauvresy had been dead a year."
The judge of instruction looked up from his notes with a surprised air.
"Who is this Sauvresy," he inquired, "of whom you speak?"
Papa Plantat, who was furiously biting his nails in a corner, apparently
a stranger to what was passing, rose abruptly.
"Monsieur Sauvresy," said he, "was the first husband of Madame de
Tremorel. My friend Courtois has omitted this fact."
"Oh!" said the mayor, in a wounded tone, "it seems to me that under
present circumstances--"
"Pardon me," interrupted the judge. "It is a detail such as may well
become valuable, though apparently foreign to the case, and at the first
view, insignificant."
"Hum!" grunted Papa Plantat. "Insignificant--foreign to it!"
His tone was so singular, his air so strange, that M. Domini was struck
by it.
"Do you share," he asked, "the opinion of the mayor regarding the
Tremorels?"
Plantat shrugged his shoulders.
"I haven't any opinions," he answered: "I live alone--see nobody; don't
disturb myself about anything. But--"
"It seems to me," said M. Courtois, "that nobody should be better
acquainted with people who were my friends than I myself."
"Then, you are telling the story clumsily," said M. Plantat, dryly.
The judge of instruction pressed him to explain himself. So M. Plantat,
without more ado, to the great scandal of the mayor, who was thus put
into the background, proceeded to dilate upon the main features of the
count's and countess's biography.
"The Countess de Tremorel, nee Bertha Lechaillu, was the daughter of a
poor village school-master. At eighteen, her beauty was famous for three
leagues around, but as she only had for dowry her great blue eyes and
blond ringlets, but few serious lovers presented themselves. Already
Bertha, by advice of her family, had resigned herself to take a place as
a governess--a sad position for so beautiful a maid--when the heir of
one of the richest domains in the neighborhood happened to see her, and
fell in love with her.
"Clement Sauvresy was just thirty; he had no longer any family, and
possessed nearly a hundred thousand livres income from lands absolutely
free of incumbrance. Clearly, he had the best right in the world to
choose a wife to his taste. He did not hesitate. He asked for Bertha's
hand, won it, and, a month after, wedded her at mid-day, to the great
scandal of the neighboring aristocracy, who went about saying: 'What
folly! what good is there in being rich, if it is not to double one's
fortune by a good marriage!'
"Nearly a month before the marriage, Sauvresy set the laborers to work
at Valfeuillu, and in no long time had spent, in repairs and furniture,
a trifle of thirty thousand crowns. The newly married pair chose this
beautiful spot in which to spend their honeymoon. They were so
well-contented there that they established themselves permanently at
Valfeuillu, to the great satisfaction of the neighborhood.
"Bertha was one of those persons, it seemed, who are born especially to
marry millionnaires. Without awkwardness or embarrassment, she passed
easily from the humble school-room, where she had assisted her father,
to the splendid drawing-room of Valfeuillu. And when she did the honors
of her chateau to all the neighboring aristocracy, it seemed as though
she had never done anything else. She knew how to remain simple,
approachable, modest, all the while that she took the tone of the
highest society. She was beloved."
"But it appears to me," interrupted the mayor, "that I said the same
thing, and it was really not worth while--"
A gesture from M. Domini closed his mouth, and M. Plantat continued:
"Sauvresy was also liked, for he was one of those golden hearts which
know not how to suspect evil. He was one of those men with a robust
faith, with obstinate illusions, whom doubts never disturb. He was one
of those who thoroughly confide in the sincerity of their friends, in
the love of their mistresses. This new domestic household ought to be
happy; it was so. Bertha adored her husband--that frank man, who, before
speaking to her a word of love, offered her his hand. Sauvresy professed
for his wife a worship which few thought foolish. They lived in great
style at Valfeuillu. They received a great deal. When autumn came all
the numerous spare chambers were filled. The turnouts were magnificent.
"Sauvresy had been married two years, when one evening he brought from
Paris one of his old and intimate friends, a college comrade of whom he
had often spoken, Count Hector de Tremorel. The count intended to remain
but a short time at Valfeuillu; but weeks passed and then months, and he
still remained. It was not surprising. Hector had passed a very stormy
youth, full of debauchery, of clubs, of gambling, and of amours. He had
thrown to the winds of his caprices an immense fortune; the relatively
calm life of Valfeuillu was a relief. At first people said to him, 'You
will soon have enough of the country.' He smiled, but said nothing. It
was then thought, and rightly, perhaps, that having become poor, he
cared little to display his ruin before those who had obscured his
splendor. He absented himself rarely, and then only to go to Corbeil,
almost always on foot. There he frequented the Belle Image hotel, the
best in the town, and met, as if by chance, a young lady from Paris.
They spent the afternoon together, and separated when the last train
left."
"Peste!" growled the mayor, "for a man who lives alone, who sees nobody,
who would not for the world have anything to do with other people's
business, it seems to me our dear Monsieur Plantat is pretty well
informed."
Evidently M. Courtois was jealous. How was it that he, the first
personage in the place, had been absolutely ignorant of these meetings?
His ill-humor was increasing, when Dr. Gendron answered:
"Pah! all Corbeil prated about that at the time."
M. Plantat made a movement with his lips as if to say, "I know other
things besides." He went on, however, with his story.
"The visit of Count Hector made no change in the habits at the chateau.
Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy had a brother; that was all. Sauvresy at
this time made several journeys to Paris, where, as everybody knew, he
was engaged in arranging his friend's affairs.
"This charming existence lasted a year. Happiness seemed to be fixed
forever beneath the delightful shades of Valfeuillu. But alas! one
evening on returning from the hunt, Sauvresy became so ill that he was
forced to take to his bed. A doctor was called; inflammation of the
chest had set in. Sauvresy was young, vigorous as an oak; his state did
not at first cause anxiety. A fortnight afterward, in fact, he was up
and about. But he was imprudent and had a relapse. He again nearly
recovered; a week afterward there was another relapse, and this time so
serious, that a fatal end of his illness was foreseen. During this long
sickness, the love of Bertha and the affection of Tremorel for Sauvresy
were tenderly shown. Never was an invalid tended with such
solicitude--surrounded with so many proofs of the purest devotion. His
wife and his friend were always at his couch, night and day. He had
hours of suffering, but never a second of weariness. He repeated to all
who went to see him, that he had come to bless his illness. He said to
himself, 'If I had not fallen ill, I should never have known how much I
was beloved.'"
"He said the same thing to me," interrupted the mayor, "more than a
hundred times. He also said so to Madame Courtois, to Laurence, my
eldest daughter--"
"Naturally," continued M. Plantat. "But Sauvresy's distemper was one
against which the science of the most skilful physicians and the most
constant care contend in vain.
"He said that he did not suffer much, but he faded perceptibly, and was
no more than the shadow of his former self. At last, one night, toward
two or three o'clock, he died in the arms of his wife and his friend. Up
to the last moment, he had preserved the full force of his faculties.
Less than an hour before expiring, he wished everyone to be awakened,
and that all the servants of the castle should be summoned. When they
were all gathered about the bedside, he took his wife's hand, placed it
in that of the Count de Tremorel, and made them swear to marry each
other when he was no more. Bertha and Hector began to protest, but he
insisted in such a manner as to compel assent, praying and adjuring
them, and declaring that their refusal would embitter his last moments.
This idea of the marriage between his widow and his friend seems,
besides, to have singularly possessed his thoughts toward the close of
his life. In the preamble of his will, dictated the night before his
death, to M. Bury, notary of Orcival, he says formally that their union
is his dearest wish, certain as he is of their happiness, and knowing
well that his memory will be piously kept."
"Had Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy no children?" asked the judge of
instruction.
"No," answered the mayor.