"When I am dead, let it be," said the duke. "Ellen will take nothing from me living—when I am dead she will be more easily persuaded. I know she must wish a high education for her son. She will not, I hope, refuse assistance for that. But even if she does, I have settled his money separately, that he may be sure of getting it. Tell Ellen, too, that I died a Catholic; I know she has long prayed for this; and tell her that I rejoice now that I have no child save hers, my only son. Let strangers take the estate that had so nearly wrecked my soul. O Eugene! none but Catholics can understand the benediction pronounced by our Lord on poverty! The possession of power, of wealth, of glory, fan our egotistical feelings, and lead us more and more astray. I think I should not dare to trust myself with them again, had I still power to use them. And I thank God I have not the power, lest the temptation should again prove too strong for my virtue."
The duke lingered on for months, long months. How tediously did those months pass to the Godfrey family—to the duchess in particular—to all, save Eugene. In the sick-chamber he passed most of his time. To Adelaide's joy, her father had not yet discovered the fatal secret. He was so busy, acting for the duke, transacting business, arranging tenantry, etc.; and then he spent long hours in the glorious pagan temple, the gods of which he had taken care to secure as Adelaide's personal possession, and for the reception of which he was building a large hall at the jointure-house, that when the castle they now inhabited should pass to the heir-at-law, he might be able to take possession of these trophies of art at once.
Such was the friendship and delicacy of the man of the world! The summer passed, the winter came, and a wintry change came over the invalid. One evening he called his wife, his friends, his domestics, every inmate of the house, into his presence, and, one by one, begged their forgiveness for every uneasiness he had caused them, for every bad example he had set them, and begged of them to pray for him as for one who was about to appear before God, to give account of a mis-spent life. To Adelaide, and to her father, mother, and sister, this appeared like a well-acted scene; but the domestics, nay, even Madame de Meglior retired in tears.
Night came. An oppression was over the household. None cared to retire to rest, and yet none dared again approach the duke's apartment. Mrs. Godfrey sat in Adelaide's room that night while Hester was with Madame de Meglior. Euphrasie was missing, but, as usual, was forgotten. Even Mr. Godfrey partook in some measure of the excitement. He had asked the physician that evening more anxiously than usual, how the patient was; and though the response had been, "Somewhat better," he, with the household, did not give it credence.
He paced his chamber, lay down on a sofa, rose, and paced it again; looked at his watch—one, two, three, four o'clock; how long the hours were that night! He opened his door, walked out, and paused at the door of his daughter's room. He heard speaking, [{481}] gently he tapped, his wife opened the door to him; neither she nor the daughter had been in bed.
"Any news? whispered he.
"No! All is quiet in the duke's chamber."
"I will go and see," he said.
He passed through the whole retinue of domestics in the galleries. Not one had gone to bed, yet all were hushed; not one had ventured to make inquiries at the sick-room door.
Mr. Godfrey passed silently on, his foot-fall was scarcely heard. A dull sound as of low continuous speaking came from the duke's apartment. The door was not locked; he turned the handle gently and went in without rapping. What a scene met his view! Candles were lighted on the altar. Beside it, rapt in prayer, knelt Euphrasie. The stranger, Martigni, robed in the sacred vestments, was in the act of placing the Holy of Holies upon the tongue of the dying man, whom Eugene was tenderly supporting in his arms. The sick man sank back on the pillow as the priest left him, and the prayers continued; Mr. Godfrey paused. A sensation of wondering anger stole over him, yet he waited for the benediction of the priest. Eugene was on his knees by the bedside. The ceremony over, Mr. Godfrey approached him, shook him, and in a harsh whisper said: