“My children,” he said to them in his last moments, “I am sorry to leave you, but at all events my mind is at rest concerning your future. I hoped to live longer among you, but fate wills otherwise and I must submit. Think of me, but don’t weep.”
The old man left his whole fortune to Jacques and Adeline. He had thirty thousand francs a year, a large part of which was used in assisting the unfortunate. Old Catherine survived her master only a few months, and those two events caused deep sadness among the occupants of Jacques’s house for a long while.
But time is always successful in calming the bitterest regrets; it triumphs over everything; it is the Lethe wherein the memories of our troubles and our pleasures alike are drowned.
Years passed. Ermance was nine years old; she was Jacques’s delight, and her mother’s consolation. In order not to part with her, they caused teachers to come to the village to begin her education.
“Ten thousand carbines!” said Sans-Souci as he looked at the little girl; “that little face will turn a devilish lot of heads! Wit, beauty, charm, talent, a kind heart,—she will have everything, sacrebleu!”
“Yes,” said Jacques, “but she will never be able to mention her father.”
“Oh! mon Dieu! there are many people in the same plight; that won’t prevent your niece from rousing passions.”
“Morbleu! those same passions are what cause most of the unhappiness of life; I would much prefer that she should not rouse any.”
“She won’t ask your permission for that, comrade.”
Adeline was proud of her daughter, who, being blest with the most happy disposition, also made rapid progress in everything that she was taught.