Cachelin replied: "Yes, he has confirmed the death, and is now writing
the certificate."
They re-entered the death-chamber. Cora was still weeping, seated in an
armchair. She wept very gently, without noise, almost without grief now,
with that facility for tears which women have.
As soon as they were all three alone in the room Cachelin said in a low
voice: "Now that the nurse has gone to bed, we might look around to see if
anything is concealed in the furniture."
The two men set about the work. They emptied the drawers, rummaged
through the pockets, unfolded every scrap of paper. By midnight they had
found nothing of interest. Cora had fallen asleep, and she snored a
little, in a regular fashion. César said: "Are we going to stay here until
daybreak?" Lesable, perplexed, thought it was the proper thing. Then the
father-in-law said: "In that case let us bring in armchairs;" and they
went out to get the two big, soft easy-chairs which furnished the room of
the young married couple.
An hour later the three relatives slept, with uneven snorings, before
the corpse, icy in its eternal immobility.
They awakened when, at daybreak, the little nurse entered the chamber.
Cachelin immediately said, rubbing his eyes: "I have been a little drowsy
for the last half hour."
Lesable, who was now sitting very upright, declared: "Yes, I noticed it
very plainly. As for me, I have not lost consciousness for a second; I
just closed my eyes to rest them."
Cora went to her own room.
Then Lesable asked with apparent indifference:
"When do you think we should go to the notary's to find out about the
will?"
"Why--this morning if you wish."
"Is it necessary that Cora should accompany us?"
"That would be better, perhaps, since she is in fact the heir."
"In that case I shall go and tell her to get ready."
Lesable went out with a quick step.
The office of Maître Belhomme was just opening its doors when Cachelin,
Lesable and his wife presented themselves in deep mourning, with faces
full of woe.
The notary at once appeared and, greeting them, bade them sit down.
Cachelin spoke up: "Monsieur, you remember me: I am the brother of Mlle
Charlotte Cachelin. These are my daughter and my son-in-law. My poor sister
died yesterday; we will bury her to-morrow. As you are the depositary
of her will, we come to ask you if she has not formulated some request
relative to her inhumation, or if you have not some communication to make
to us."
The notary opened a drawer, took out an envelope from which he drew a
paper, and said:
"Here, Monsieur, is a duplicate of the will, the contents of which I
will make you acquainted with immediately. The other document, exactly
similar to this, is to remain in my hands." And he read:
"I, the undersigned, Victorine-Charlotte Cachelin, here express my last
wishes:
"I leave my entire fortune, amounting to about one million one hundred
and twenty thousand francs, to the children who will be born of the
marriage of my niece Céleste-Coralie Cachelin, the possession of the
income to go to the parents until the majority of the eldest of their
descendants.
"The provisions which follow regulate the share which shall fall to
each child, and the share remaining to the parents until their death.
"In the event of my death before my niece has an heir, all my fortune is
to remain in the hands of my notary, for the term of three years, for my
wish above expressed to be complied with if a child is born during that
time.
"But in the case of Coralie's not obtaining from Heaven a descendant
during the three years following my death, my fortune is to be
distributed, by the hands of my notary, among the poor and the benevolent
institutions contained in the following list."
There followed an interminable series of names of communities, of
societies, of orders, and of instructions.
Then Maître Belhomme politely placed the paper in the hands of
Cachelin, who stood speechless with astonishment.
The notary thought he ought to add something by way of explanation to
his visitors.
"Mlle Cachelin," said he, "when she did me the honour to speak to me
for the first time of her project of making her will according to this
plan, expressed to me the great desire which she had to see an heir of her
race. She replied to all my reasoning by a more and more positive
expression of her wishes, which were based, moreover, on a religious
sentiment, she holding every sterile union to be the sign of divine
malediction. I have not been able to modify her intentions in the least.
Believe me, I regret this fact exceedingly." Then he added, smiling at
Coralie: "But I do not doubt that the _desideratum_ of the deceased will
be quickly realized."
And the three relatives went away, too bewildered to think of anything.
Side by side they walked home, without speaking, ashamed and furious,
as though they had robbed each other. All of Cora's grief, even, had
suddenly disappeared, the ingratitude of her aunt driving away all
disposition to weep.
At last Lesable, whose pale lips were drawn with rage, said to his
father-in-law:
"Pass me that paper, that I may read it with my own eyes." Cachelin
handed him the document and the young man began to read. He had stopped
on the footpath and, jostled by the passers-by, he stood there scanning
the words with his piercing and practical eye. The two others waited a few
steps in front, still silent.
Then he handed back the paper, saying:
"There is nothing to be done. She has tricked us beautifully."
Cachelin, who was irritated by the failure of his hopes, replied:
"It was for you to have a child, damn it! You knew well enough that she
wanted it long ago."
Lesable shrugged his shoulders without answering.
On entering they found a crowd of people awaiting them, those whose
calling brings them where a corpse is. Lesable went to his room, not
wishing to be bothered, and César spoke roughly to all of them, crying out
to them to leave him in peace, demanding that they get through with it as
quickly as possible, thinking that they were very long in relieving him of
the dead.
Cora, shut up in her room, made no sound, but after an hour Cachelin
came and rapped on the door of his son-in-law.
"I come, my dear Léopold," said he, "to submit some reflections to you,
for it is necessary to come to some understanding. My opinion is that we
should give her a befitting funeral in order to give no hint at the
Ministry of what has happened. We will arrange about the expense. Besides,
nothing is lost. You have not been married very long, and it would be too
great a misfortune if you had no children. You must set about it, that's
all. And now to business. Will you drop in at the Ministry after a while?
I am going to address the envelopes for the death announcements."
Lesable grudgingly agreed that his father-in-law was right, and they sat
down face to face, each at an end of a long table, to fill in the
black-bordered cards.
Then they lunched. Cora reappeared, indifferent as though nothing of
what had passed concerned her, and she ate a good deal, having fasted the
evening before.
As soon as the meal was finished she returned to her room. Lesable left
to go to the Ministry, and Cachelin installed himself on the balcony, his
chair tilted back, in order to enjoy a pipe.
The broad sun of a summer day fell perpendicularly upon the multitude
of roofs, some of which were pierced with windows which blazed as with
fire and threw back the dazzling rays which the sight could not sustain.
And Cachelin, in his shirt-sleeves, looked, with his eyes blinking under
this stream of light, upon the green hillocks far, far away beyond the
great city, beyond the dusty suburbs. He thought of how the Seine flowed
there, broad, calm, and fresh, at the foot of hills which had trees on
their slopes, and how much better it would be to be lying on one's stomach
in that greenery on the bank of the river, gazing into the water, than to
be sitting on the burning lead of his balcony. And an uneasiness oppressed
him, the tormenting thought, the grievous sensation of their disaster, of
that unfortunate, unexpected thing, so much more bitter and brutal because
the hope had been so ardent and so long-lived; and he said aloud, as
people do in time of great trouble of mind, in the uprooting of a fixed
idea: "Damned old witch!"
Behind him in the bedroom he heard the movements of those who were
busying themselves with the preparations for the funeral, and the
continuous noise of the hammer which nailed up the coffin. He had not
looked at his sister since his visit to the lawyer.
But little by little the warmth, the gaiety, the clear charm of this
beautiful day penetrated to his mind and his soul, and he thought that
things were not so desperate. Why should his daughter not have a child?
She had not been married two years yet! His son-in-law appeared vigorous,
well built, and in good health, although small. They would have a child,
and then besides, by Jupiter, they had to!
Lesable furtively entered the Ministry and slunk to his room. He found
on the table a paper bearing these words: "The chief wants you." He made a
gesture of impatience. He felt a revolt against this yoke which had again
fallen on his back; then a sudden and violent desire to succeed seized
him. He would be chief in his turn, and soon; he would then go higher
still. Without removing his frock-coat he went at once to M. Torchebeuf.
He presented himself with one of those solemn faces which one assumes on
sad occasions. But there was something more--an expression of sincere and
profound sorrow, that involuntary dejection which a deep disappointment
leaves upon the features.
The head of the chief was bent over his papers. He raised it suddenly,
and said in a sharp tone: "I have needed you all morning. Why have you
not come?"
Lesable replied: "Dear master, we have had the misfortune to lose my
aunt. Mademoiselle Cachelin, and I have just come to ask you to attend the
funeral, which will take place to-morrow."
The frown on the brow of M. Torchebeuf immediately disappeared, and he
replied with a touch of consideration: "That alters the case, my dear
friend. I thank you and give you the day, for you must have a great deal
to attend to."
But Lesable, desiring to show his zeal, said:
"Thanks, dear master, everything is finished, and I expected to remain
here until the regular hour for closing."
And he returned to his desk.
The news soon spread, and his fellows came from all the departments to
bring him their congratulation rather than their condolences, and also to
see how he bore himself. He endured their speeches and their looks with
the resigned appearance of an actor, and also with a tact which astonished
them.
"He conducts himself very well," said some.
"Well he may," added others; "he ought to be content--lucky dog!"
Maze, more audacious than any of them, asked with the careless air
of a man of the world: "Do you know exactly the amount of the fortune?"
Lesable replied in a perfectly disinterested tone: "No, not precisely.
The will says about twelve hundred thousand francs. I know that, as the
notary was obliged to make us acquainted immediately with certain clauses
relative to the funeral."
It was the general opinion that Lesable would not remain in the
Ministry. With an income of sixty thousand francs one does not remain a
quill-driver. One is somebody and can be something according to one's
inclination.
Some thought that he was aiming at the Cabinet; others believed that he
thought of the Chamber of Deputies. The chief was expecting to receive
his resignation to transmit to the head of the department.
The entire Ministry came to the funeral, which was thought to be very
meagre. But the word was around: "It is Mlle Cachelin herself who
wished it so. It was in the will."
On the very next day Cachelin was at his post, and Lesable, after a
week of indisposition, also returned, a little pale but assiduous and
zealous as formerly. One would have said that nothing unlooked-for had
happened to them. It was only remarked that they ostentatiously smoked
very large cigars, that they talked of consols, railways, of stocks and
shares, like men who have scrip in their pockets, and it became known, in
a short time, that they had rented a country-house in the neighbourhood
of Paris, in which to spend the summer season.
"They are miserly like the old woman," they said. "It runs in the
family. Birds of a feather flock together. But it doesn't look well to
retain a clerkship with such a fortune."
In a short time the matter was forgotten. They were rated and judged.