The solemn assembly, therefore, convened on a cold morning of November in the large parlor of the house. A biting and mournful wind shook the windows, and threw against them in disorder the last leaves of the lindens that on the day of the betrothal had balanced so joyously their green perfumed crowns above the gladdened heads of Valentine, her companions, and her betrothed. The last wishes of Madame de Guers were expressed in a manner at once neat and concise. Her little capital of 40,000 francs, placed in rentes on the state, and her house, with all its dependencies, were willed by her to her dear pupil, Valentine Vaudrey, in default of direct inheritors from her own family or from that of her husband. The assistants knew in advance the tenor of the will; nevertheless, after its reading they hastened to congratulate the poor heiress, now overwhelmed in tears.
“Dear good madame knew you well, and she was not wrong,” said the old and honest Marianne, with a convinced air.
“My dear child, hereafter you are quite at home,” added M. Maubars, as he pressed with lively affection the little white hand, quite dampened with tears.
The notary, however, made a gesture with his hand to reclaim still some moments of silence. “The reading of the papers establishing the last wishes of the defunct is not yet completed, gentlemen,” added he, in a grave and measured voice. “I have in my hand a letter written by my respectable client fifteen days before her death, and addressed to her pupil, Mlle. Valentine Vaudrey. Mlle. Valentine will be kind enough
to take notice, conjointly with myself and M. the President of the Tribunal or M. the Justice of the Peace, if these last recommendations are not to be considered as bearing upon her affairs.”
Valentine, drying her eyes, raised her pale, noble forehead, and tried to collect her voice, that trembled greatly.
“My good Monsieur Morin, read the letter,” said she, “I pray you. My dear and best friend had no secrets to confide to me, I am sure, and her last wishes should be respected and known by all.”
The notary bowed and broke the seal. With one look he glanced through the writing, and a shade of surprise and anxiety was depicted on his face. Valentine, disquieted in turn, advanced gently, and extended her hand toward the paper.
“Of what is this the subject, sir?” she asked timidly.
“Business; only business, my dear young lady,” stammered the good M. Morin in an embarrassed tone.