“Oh! that unfortunate adventure! That wretched young man will be the death of you!”
“Take that back, dear,” said Victor; “it pains me. Instead of deploring this occurrence, and calling it unfortunate, you should thank God. He has thus granted my dearest wish. From the time I found my days numbered, I prayed God to grant me every possible opportunity of showing how earnestly I wished to serve him during the short time left me on earth. He has now granted my desire. If my going into the water to-day leads to my death, I shall have the infinite joy of being in a certain sense a martyr, for I fully realized the danger. But an interior voice whispered: ‘There is a soul to save,’ and I plunged into the river.... Others would have done the same, but God does not give every one such an opportunity. I thank him for having granted it to me.”
By degrees Victor’s alarming symptoms wore off. When he awoke the next morning, he was much better than I had dared hope. He recalled with a lively joy the events of the previous day, and expressed an eager desire to know what Louis and his sister had decided upon.
We were not kept in suspense long. Louis arrived about nine o’clock. Seeing his face was calm and happy, my poor husband manifested a livelier satisfaction than I had ever known him to express.
“Sit down there,” said he, pointing to an arm-chair beside his bed, “and give us the details of all you have done.”
As we agreed upon last evening, replied Louis, I went directly home after leaving you, and inquired if my sister was in. They told me she was. I went to her room. It was vacant. A servant informed me that she had given up her old chamber some weeks before, and now occupied my mother’s. I found Aline sitting in the middle of the room beside a stand, in the same arm-chair my mother made use of to the last. I cannot express the emotion that overpowered me when I entered. The aspect of the room, the sight of the well-known furniture, Aline’s grave air, and her resemblance to my mother, all carried me back ten years. It seemed as if I were once more in the presence of her whom I loved so much, but whose counsels I had followed so poorly. My agitation increased when Aline sprang towards me, clasped me in her arms, and covered my face with her tears.
“Wicked, wicked boy, she cried; you wished to put an end to your life! How sinful in you! and what sorrow for us! Oh! conceal nothing from me.... You are very unhappy, then?... You have no confidence in me?... Come, tell me all. Leave me no longer in a state of uncertainty. And, first, have you renounced your horrible project?”
Her voice betrayed such profound emotion, her eyes such tender affection and deep anxiety, that I was affected to tears. I began by begging pardon for all the anxiety I had caused her. I pledged my word to enter upon a new life. When we were both somewhat calmer, I told her all I had related to you. At the end of the account, she looked at me as a mother would at her son, and said:
“Louis, the hand of God has visibly interposed in your behalf. Everything shows you would have been drowned. And what a horrible end!—in that river where so few people go, especially the spot you chose, had not Providence, at the very moment you plunged into the water, sent a man, a noble-hearted man, to save you at the peril of his life. That is not all. When you were able to thank your deliverer, you found it was—the very man who had already been brought to death’s door through your fault. If I am not deceived, this is a wonderful interposition of Providence. You have been a great sinner, my poor boy, and your conversion had to be effected by a great sacrifice. This sacrifice has been offered by M. Barnier in risking his life in order to restore you to existence, which you wished to deprive yourself of. I believe—pardon my great frankness—God wished, I believe, to inspire you with thorough repentance by showing you your victim under the form of your deliverer. Oh! if this repentance is not lasting, I shall tremble at the thought of the chastisement that the justice of God, weary of pardoning you, has in reserve. But, no!—there is no fear of that. And now, what are you going to do?”
“Put an end to my idle life.”