The Père Anselme arrived about four o’clock, and remained alone with her for nearly an hour. When we returned, the face of the sick woman was calm and serene; but it was easy to see that the Père Anselme had shed many tears. He remained to assist at the last ceremonies of the Church. This spectacle, always so imposing and so sorrowful, was rendered even more so by the contrast which the tranquil resignation of the sufferer formed with the profound grief of her venerable confessor, who burst into tears at her side. The emotion became general; and she, for whom everybody wept, was the only one not to weep.
The remainder of the day was spent in the customary prayers, which were only interrupted by the sufferer’s frequent fits of weakness. At last, at about eleven o’clock at night, she appeared to be more oppressed and to suffer more. I put out my hand to seek her arm; she had still strength enough to take it, and she placed it upon her heart. I could no longer discern any movement; and, indeed, at that very moment, our unfortunate friend expired.
You will remember, my dear friend, that, on your last visit here, not a year ago, when we talked together of certain persons whose happiness seemed to us more or less assured, we dwelt complacently upon the lot of this very woman, whose misfortunes and whose death we lament to-day. So many virtues, laudable qualities and attractions; a character so sweet and easy; a husband whom she loved, and by whom she was adored; a society which pleased her, and of which she was the delight; a face, youth, fortune; so many combined advantages lost through a single imprudence! O Providence, doubtless we must worship Thy decrees; but how incomprehensible they are! I stop myself; I fear to add to your sorrow by indulging my own.
I leave you, to return to my daughter, who is a little indisposed. When she heard from me this morning of so sudden a death of two persons of her acquaintance, she was taken ill, and I had her sent to bed. I hope, however, that this slight indisposition will have no ill results. At her age, one is not yet habituated to sorrow, and its impression is keener and more potent. Such sensibility is, doubtless, a praiseworthy quality; but how greatly does all that we daily see teach us to dread it!
Adieu, my dear and venerable friend.
Paris, 9th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIXTH
M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
Madame,
In consequence of the orders which you have done me the honour of sending me, I have had that of seeing M. le Président de ***, and have communicated your letter to him, informing him that, in pursuance of your wishes, I should do nothing without his advice. The honourable magistrate desires me to point out to you that the complaint which you intend to lodge against M. le Chevalier Danceny would be compromising to the memory of your nephew, and that his honour would also inevitably be tarnished by the decree of the court, which would, of course, be a great misfortune. His opinion, therefore, is that you should carefully abstain from taking any proceedings; and that what you had better do, on the contrary, would be to endeavour to prevent the Government from taking cognizance of this unfortunate adventure, which has already made too much noise.
These observations seemed to me full of wisdom, and I resolved to wait for further orders from you. Allow me to beg you, Madame, to be so good, when you dispatch them, as to add a word as to the state of your health, the sad effect upon which of so many troubles I greatly dread. I hope that you will pardon this liberty in consideration of my attachment and my zeal.