“I have many letters of his, dated from the 'Place Vendôme,' No. 13, where he lived.”
“Indeed!” cried he, in astonishment. “You possess these at present?”
“Some few I have with me; others, a large number, are in the keeping of my friends, as well as notes and papers in the hand of the late Duc d'Orléans, with whom my father appeared to live on considerable intimacy.”
“That I can vouch for myself,” said the avocat, hastily; then, suddenly correcting himself, added,—“Perhaps you would give me a sight of some of these documents. I do not ask from any impertinent curiosity, but with the conviction that I can be of some service to you.”
I readily promised to do so, and the following day was named for the purpose.
“Now, for the present case,” said he. “I know nothing of Monsieur Bernois beyond what a client of mine from the Auvergnat told me. He was the son of a poor farmer near Linange, who studied the law at Paris, went back to his native village and married, and, after some years of failure at home, came here to make his fortune. I employed him partly from motives of charity, for he was irregular in his habits of work, and seemed overcome by a depression that rendered him often incapable of all exertion. Make what arrangements you think suitable for his burial, and then induce his poor widow and daughter to return home. Call upon me for any expenses that may be needed, and say that I will send one of my clerks to make an inventory of his effects and draw up the 'procès' the law requires.”
There was a mingled kindness and commonplace in the way he spoke this that left me in doubt which of the two frames of mind predominated in his nature. At all events, I had good reason to be satisfied with my reception, and, resisting his invitation to stay to supper, I hastened back to the Rue de Viardot.
The poor widow still remained in the state of stupor in which I first saw her; but Marguerite's grief had taken a more violent form, and the terrible shock had brought on brain-fever,—at least, so Lizette pronounced it. My sad duties were thus multiplied by the cares of the sick-room, for Lizette threw all upon me, and would do nothing without my guidance and advice.
By great exertions, and by working all night through, I reduced the affairs of the family to a condition of order; and when Monsieur le Monnier's clerk appeared in the morning, I had already compiled the inventory and drawn up the “acte de décès,” as it is called, for the authorities.
By searching amongst papers I also found the address of the widow's father, who lived in the village of “Linange,” and to him I wrote a few lines, acquainting him with what had occurred, and asking his counsel with regard to the family. Though Lizette had accompanied them from their native village to Paris, she was greatly indisposed to afford any information as to their circumstances or condition in life, and seemed only eager to complete all the formalities of the law and quit the capital. I certainly did not impose any unfair burden upon her incommunicative disposition. I asked a few questions,—none that were not in a measure indispensable.