Edmée was not surprised at my intellectual progress, but she rejoiced at it. I had shown it in my letters, she said.
My good uncle, the chevalier, now took a real liking for me, and where formerly natural generosity and family pride had made him adopt me, a genuine sympathy made him give me his friendship. He did not disguise from me that his great desire, before falling into the sleep that knows no waking, was to see me married to Edmée; and when I told him this was the one wish of my soul, the one thought of my life, he said:
"I know, I know. Everything depends on her, and I think she can no longer have any reasons for hesitation.... At all events," he added, "I cannot see any that she could allege at present."
From these words I concluded that he himself had long been favourable to my suit, and that any obstacle which might exist lay with Edmée. But so much did I stand in awe of Edmée's sensitive pride and her unspeakable goodness that I dared not ask her point-blank to decide my fate. M. de la Marche I knew had left France, and all thought of an engagement on his part with Edmée was at an end. In a proud struggle to conceal the poverty of his estate, all his fortune had gone, and he had not been long in following me to America.
The chevalier insisted on my visiting my property of Roche-Mauprat. Thanks to my uncle, great improvements had been accomplished in my absence, and the land was being well cultivated by good tenants. I knew that I ought not to neglect my duty, and though I had not set foot on the accursed soil since the day I left it with Edmée, I set out and was away two days.
I stayed in the gloomy old house and the only remarkable thing about the visit was that I had a vision of my wicked uncle John Mauprat.
IV.--My Trial and Happiness
We had gone on a hunting party one day after my return, and Edmée and I were separated from the rest. Somehow the old unbridled passions rose up within me and I succeeded in affronting Edmée with my fierce speech. Then I hastened away, ashamed and fearful.
I had not gone more than thirty paces when I heard the report of a gun from the spot where I had left Edmée. I stopped, petrified with horror, and then retraced my steps. Edmée was lying on the ground, rigid and bathed in blood. Patience was standing by her side with his arms crossed on his breast, and his face livid. For myself, I could not understand what was taking place. I fancy that my brain, already bewildered by my previous emotions, must have been paralyzed. I sat down on the ground by Edmée's side. She had been shot in the breast in two places, and the Abbé Aubert was endeavouring to staunch the blood with his handkerchief.
"Dead, dead," said Patience, "and there is the murderer! She said so as she gave up her pure soul to God; and Patience will avenge her! It is very hard but it must be so! It is God's will, since I alone was here to learn the truth!"