It is impossible to paint the horror,—the stupor, of M. d'Harville's guests.
M. d'Harville had blown his brains out.
Original Etching by Mercier.
Next day the following appeared in one of the newspapers:
"Yesterday an event, as unforeseen as deplorable, put all the Faubourg St. Germain in a state of excitement. One of those imprudent acts, which every year produce such sad accidents, has caused this terrible misfortune. The following are the facts which we have gathered, the authenticity of which may be relied upon.
"The Marquis d'Harville, the possessor of an immense fortune, and scarcely twenty-six years of age, universally known for his kind-hearted benevolence, and married but a few years to a wife whom he idolised, had some friends to breakfast with him; on leaving the table, they went into M. d'Harville's sleeping apartment, where there were several firearms of considerable value. Whilst the guests were looking at some choice fowling-pieces, M. d'Harville in jest took up a pistol which he thought was not loaded, and placed the muzzle to his lips. Though warned by his friends, he pressed on the trigger,—the pistol went off, and the unfortunate young gentleman dropped down dead, with his skull horribly fractured. It is impossible to describe the extreme consternation of the friends of M. d'Harville, with whom but a few instants before he had been talking of various plans and projects, full of life, spirits, and animation. In fact, as if all the circumstances of this sad event must be still more cruel by the most painful contrasts, that very morning M. d'Harville, desirous of agreeably surprising his wife, had purchased a most expensive ornament, which he intended as a present to her. It was at this very moment, when, perhaps, life had never appeared more smiling and attractive, that he fell a victim to this most distressing accident.
"All reflections on such a dreadful event are useless. We can only remain overwhelmed at the inscrutable decrees of Providence."
We quote this journal in order to show the general opinion which attributed the death of Clémence's husband to fatal and lamentable imprudence.
Is there any occasion to say that M. d'Harville alone carried with him to the tomb the mysterious secret of his voluntary death,—yes, voluntary and calculated upon, and meditated with as much calmness as generosity, in order that Clémence might not conceive the slightest suspicion as to the real cause of his suicide?