"Who gave you that?" resumed he.
"What matters it? I have taken care that he who gave it to me should run
the same danger as myself, and he knows it. There's nothing to fear from
that quarter. I've paid him enough to smother all his regrets."
An objection came to his lips; he wanted to say, "It's too slow;" but he
had not the courage, though she read his thought in his eyes.
"It is slow, because that suits me," said she. "Before all, I must know
about the will--and that I am trying to find out."
She occupied herself constantly about this will, and during the long
hours that she passed at Sauvresy's bedside, she gradually, with the
greatest craft and delicacy, led her husband's mind in the direction of
his last testament, with such success that he himself mentioned the
subject which so absorbed Bertha.
He said that he did not comprehend why people did not always have their
worldly affairs in order, and their wishes fully written down, in case
of accident. What difference did it make whether one were ill or well?
At these words Bertha attempted to stop him. Such ideas, she said,
pained her too much. She even shed real tears, which fell down her
cheeks and made her more beautiful and irresistible than before; real
tears which moistened her handkerchief.
"You dear silly creature," said Sauvresy, "do you think that makes one
die?"
"No; but I do not wish it."
"But, dear, have we been any the less happy because, on the day after
our marriage, I made a will bequeathing you all my fortune? And, stop;
you have a copy of it, haven't you? If you were kind, you would go and
fetch it for me."
She became very red, then very pale. Why did he ask for this copy? Did
he want to tear it up? A sudden thought reassured her; people do not
tear up a document which can be cancelled by a scratch of the pen on
another sheet of paper. Still, she hesitated a moment.
"I don't know where it can be."
"But I do. It is in the left-hand drawer of the glass cupboard; come,
please me by getting it."
While she was gone, Sauvresy said to Hector:
"Poor girl! Poor dear Bertha! If I died, she never would survive me!"
Tremorel thought of nothing to reply; his anxiety was intense and
visible.
"And this man," thought he, "suspects something! No; it is not
possible."
Bertha returned.
"I have found it," said she.
"Give it to me."
He took the copy of his will, and read it with evident satisfaction,
nodding his head at certain passages in which he referred to his love
for his wife. When he had finished reading, he said:
"Now give me a pen and some ink."
Hector and Bertha reminded him that it would fatigue him to write; but
he insisted. The two guilty ones, seated at the foot of the bed and out
of Sauvresy's sight, exchanged looks of alarm. What was he going to
write? But he speedily finished it.
"Take this," said he to Tremorel, "and read aloud what I have just
added."
Hector complied with his friend's request, with trembling voice:
"This day, being sound in mind, though much suffering, I declare that I
do not wish to change a line of this will. Never have I loved my wife
more--never have I so much desired to leave her the heiress of all I
possess, should I die before her.
"CLEMENT SAUVRESY."
Mistress of herself as Bertha was, she succeeded in concealing the
unspeakable satisfaction with which she was filled. All her wishes were
accomplished, and yet she was able to veil her delight under an apparent
sadness.
"Of what good is this?" said she, with a sigh.
She said this, but half an hour afterward, when she was alone with
Hector, she gave herself up to the extravagance of her delight.
"Nothing more to fear," exclaimed she. "Nothing! Now we shall have
liberty, fortune, love, pleasure, life! Why, Hector, we shall have at
least three millions; you see, I've got this will myself, and I shall
keep it. No more agents or notaries shall be admitted into this house
henceforth. Now I must hasten!"
The count certainly felt a satisfaction in knowing her to be rich, for
he could much more easily get rid of a millionnaire widow than of a poor
penniless woman. Sauvresy's conduct thus calmed many sharp anxieties.
Her restless gayety, however, her confident security, seemed monstrous
to Hector. He would have wished for more solemnity in the execution of
the crime; he thought that he ought at least to calm Bertha's delirium.
"You will think more than once of Sauvresy," said he, in a graver tone.
She answered with a "prrr," and added vivaciously:
"Of him? when and why? Oh, his memory will not weigh on me very heavily.
I trust that we shall be able to live still at Valfeuillu, for the place
pleases me; but we must also have a house at Paris--or we will buy yours
back again. What happiness, Hector!"
The mere prospect of this anticipated felicity so shocked Hector, that
his better self for the moment got the mastery; he essayed to move
Bertha.
"For the last time," said he, "I implore you to renounce this terrible,
dangerous project. You see that you were mistaken--that Sauvresy
suspects nothing, but loves you as well as ever."
The expression of Bertha's face suddenly changed; she sat quite still,
in a pensive revery.
"Don't let's talk any more of that," said she, at last. "Perhaps I was
mistaken. Perhaps he only had doubts--perhaps, although he has
discovered something, he hopes to win me back by his goodness. But you
see--"
She stopped. Doubtless she did not wish to alarm him.
He was already much alarmed. The next day he went off to Melun without a
word; being unable to bear the sight of this agony, and fearing to
betray himself. But he left his address, and when she sent word that
Sauvresy was always crying out for him, he hastily returned. Her letter
was most imprudent and absurd, and made his hair stand on end. He had
intended, on his arrival, to reproach her; but it was she who upbraided
him.
"Why this flight?"
"I could not stay here--I suffered, trembled, felt as if I were dying."
"What a coward you are!"
He would have replied, but she put her finger on his mouth, and pointed
with her other hand to the door of the next room.
"Sh! Three doctors have been in consultation there for the past hour,
and I haven't been able to hear a word of what they said. Who knows what
they are about? I shall not be easy till they go away."
Bertha's fears were not without foundation. When Sauvresy had his last
relapse, and complained of a severe neuralgia in the face and an
irresistible craving for pepper, Dr. R--- had uttered a significant
exclamation. It was nothing, perhaps--yet Bertha had heard it, and she
thought she surprised a sudden suspicion on the doctor's part; and this
now disturbed her, for she thought that it might be the subject of the
consultation. The suspicion, however, if there had ever been any,
quickly vanished. The symptoms entirely changed twelve hours later, and
the next day the sick man felt pains quite the opposite of those which
had previously distressed him. This very inconstancy of the distemper
served to puzzle the doctor's conclusions. Sauvresy, in these latter
days, had scarcely suffered at all, he said, and had slept well at
night; but he had, at times, strange and often distressing sensations.
He was evidently failing hourly; he was dying--everyone perceived it.
And now Dr. R--- asked for a consultation, the result of which had not
been reached when Tremorel returned.
The drawing-room door at last swung open, and the calm faces of the
physicians reassured the poisoner. Their conclusions were that the case
was hopeless; everything had been tried and exhausted; no human
resources had been neglected; the only hope was in Sauvresy's strong
constitution.
Bertha, colder than marble, motionless, her eyes full of tears, seemed
so full of grief on hearing this cruel decision, that all the doctors
were touched.
"Is there no hope then? Oh, my God!" cried she, in agonizing tones.
Dr. R--- hardly dared to attempt to comfort her; he answered her
questions evasively.
"We must never despair," said he, "when the invalid is of Sauvresy's age
and constitution; nature often works miracles when least expected."
The doctor, however, lost no time in taking Hector apart and begging him
to prepare the poor, devoted, loving young lady for the terrible blow
about to ensue.
"For you see," added he, "I don't think Monsieur Sauvresy can live more
than two days!"
Bertha, with her ear at the keyhole, had heard the doctor's prediction;
and when Hector returned from conducting the physician to the door, he
found her radiant. She rushed into his arms.
"Now" cried she, "the future truly belongs to us. Only one black point
obscured our horizon, and it has cleared away. It is for me to realize
Doctor R--- 's prediction." They dined together, as usual, in the
dining-room, while one of the chambermaids remained beside the sick-bed.
Bertha was full of spirits which she could scarcely control. The
certainty of success and safety, the assurance of reaching the end, made
her imprudently gay. She spoke aloud, even in the presence of the
servants, of her approaching liberty. During the evening she was more
reckless than ever. If any of the servants should have a suspicion, or a
shadow of one she might be discovered and lost. Hector constantly nudged
her under the table and frowned at her, to keep her quiet; he felt his
blood run cold at her conduct; all in vain. There are times when the
armor of hypocrisy becomes so burdensome that one is forced, cost what
it may, to throw it off if only for an instant.
While Hector was smoking his cigar, Bertha was more freely pursuing her
dream. She was thinking that she could spend the period of her mourning
at Valfeuillu, and Hector, for the sake of appearances, would hire a
pretty little house somewhere in the suburbs. The worst of it all was
that she would be forced to seem to mourn for Sauvresy, as she had
pretended to love him during his lifetime. But at last a day would come
when, without scandal, she might throw off her mourning clothes, and
then they would get married. Where? At Paris or Orcival?
Hector's thoughts ran in the same channel. He, too, wished to see his
friend under the ground to end his own terrors, and to submit to
Bertha's terrible yoke.