There was a sorrowful silence for a moment, and then Madame Guibert spoke again.
“Eighteen months! Is it possible? ... Yet I have lived through them, thanks to Paule. While the breath of life is in me, I shall thank God for giving me such a husband, such sons and daughters.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes and began the painful recital for which her son was waiting.
“Your Uncle Marc’s misfortune was the beginning of all our sorrows. We were too happy, Marcel. Your father was the embodiment of strength, self-reliance, and hard work. After the most wearying days he always came home happy. And you all succeeded in your careers.”
“Some were jealous of you,” said Paule.
“It is better to be envied than pitied,” added her brother, who was as proud as she.
“Your uncle’s bank at Annecy prospered, until a confidential clerk absconded with title deeds and deposits, and Marc, unable to bear the temporary storm aroused by this flight, and stunned by the shock, committed suicide. God grant that he has been permitted to repent! Your father left directly. He understood the situation. All was paid, both capital and interest—but we had to sacrifice the greater part of our fortune. However, we were able to save Le Maupas, which belongs to the family.”
“Le Maupas is to all of us the living picture of our childhood days,” said Marcel.
Madame Guibert continued, “Before disposing of his fortune your father asked the consent of all of you.”
“Yes, I remember. It was at the beginning of the campaign. But father’s conduct seemed to me an excess of punctiliousness. These money matters are quite strange and indifferent to me.”