"What's the trouble, my friend; how's your master?"
"Monsieur le comte died last night," the valet replied, with a sigh.
"Died!" cried Cherami. "What do you mean? Dead so soon! What in the devil did he die of?"
"Inflammation, indigestion. He took to his bed on Tuesday night, and the doctor said at once there was no hope."
"Poor count! Ah! that really causes me great distress.—It may be," thought Cherami, as he went away, "that we heated the oven a little too hot."
LX
THE RETURN OF ULYSSES
A month had passed since the Comte de la Bérinière's death. Was it from grief? was it from anger? Madame Monléard had shut herself up in her apartment ever since, and had been to see no one, not even her father or her sister. She must have known, however, that Adolphine would be the first to sympathize with her woes; but unfeeling persons never believe in the keen sensibility of others; and if anybody seems to pity them, they are always convinced that, in reality, that person rejoices in their misfortune. The proverb rightly says that we judge others by ourselves.
Monsieur Batonnin, who was always the first to be informed of anything that happened to disturb his friends or acquaintances, learned of the count's death very soon after it occurred, and went at once to Monsieur Gerbault's.
"Have you heard of the cruel accident, the misfortune that has befallen your elder daughter?" he said. "The Comte de la Bérinière is dead, and before he had married her."
"I should say," rejoined Monsieur Gerbault, "that the misfortune was the count's, not my daughter's."