“He said with marked emphasis: ‘In losing her I lost everything in this world—she was to me a mother! a dear, dear mother! a true loving mother to me!’ While he uttered these words he sobbed and cried like a child. And referring to them, he again said: ‘You understand me, Madden.’”
Madden believed D’Orsay to have been speaking in all sincerity. What are we to believe? There is something almost terrible in this scene of the dying dandy, broken down in body and spirits, making a gallant effort to clear the name he had for years besmirched. But the statements of the dying must not be allowed to weigh against the deeds of the living. And would the dead lady have been pleased?
Madden continues:—
“I said, among the many objects which caught my attention in the room, I was very glad to see a crucifix placed over the head of his bed; men living in the world as he had done, were so much in the habit of forgetting all early religious feelings. D’Orsay seemed hurt at the observation. I then plainly said to him:—
“‘The fact is, I imagined, or rather I supposed, you had followed Lady Blessington’s example, if not in giving up your own religion, in seeming to conform to another more in vogue in England.’
“D’Orsay rose up with considerable energy, and stood erect and firm with obvious exertion for a few seconds, looking like himself again, and pointing to the head of the bed, he said:
“‘Do you see those two swords?’ pointing to two small swords (which were hung over the crucifix crosswise); ‘do you see that sword to the right? With that sword I fought in defence of my religion.’”
He then briefly narrated the story of the duel which we have already told.
During his last illness, D’Orsay received from the Emperor the appointment of Director of Fine Arts. The honour came too late.