The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
not even admit to himself. He stammered: “Thank you; I will call again,” without knowing what he was saying.
Then he jumped into a cab and was driven home. His wife had come in. He went into her room breathless, and said at once: “Have you heard? Vaudrec is dying.”
She was sitting down reading a letter. She raised her eyes, and repeating thrice: “Oh! what do you say, what do you say, what do you say?”
“I say that Vaudrec is dying from a fit of gout that has flown to the heart.” Then he added: “What do you think of doing?”
She had risen livid, and with her cheeks shaken by a nervous quivering, then she began to cry terribly, hiding her face in her hands. She stood shaken by sobs and torn by grief. But suddenly she mastered her sorrow, and wiping her eyes, said: “I — I am going there — don’t bother about me — I don’t know when I shall be back — don’t wait for me.”
He replied: “Very well, dear.” They shook hands, and she went off so hurriedly that she forgot her gloves.
George, having dined alone, began to write his article. He did so exactly in accordance with the minister’s instructions, giving his readers to understand that the expedition to Morocco would not take place. Then he took it to the office, chatted for a few minutes with the governor, and went out smoking, lighthearted, though he knew not why. His wife had not come home, and he went to bed and fell asleep.
Madeleine came in towards midnight. George, suddenly roused, sat up in bed. “Well?” he asked.
He had never seen her so pale and so deeply moved. She murmured: “He is dead.”
“Ah! — and he did not say anything?”
“Nothing. He had lost consciousness when I arrived.”
George was thinking. Questions rose to his lips that he did not dare to put. “Come to bed,” said he.
She undressed rapidly, and slipped into bed beside him, when he resumed: “Were there any relations present at his deathbed?”
“Only a nephew.”
“Ah! Did he see this nephew often?”
“Never. They had not met for ten years.”
“Had he any other relatives?”
“No, I do not think so.”
“Then it is his nephew who will inherit?”
“I do not know.”
“He was very well off, Vaudrec?”
“Yes, very well off.”
“Do you know what his fortune was?”
“No, not exactly. One or two millions, perhaps.”
He said no more. She blew out the light, and they remained stretched out, side by side, in the darkness — silent, wakeful, and reflecting. He no longer felt inclined for sleep. He now thought the seventy thousand francs promised by Madame Walter insignificant. Suddenly he fancied that Madeleine was crying. He inquired, in order to make certain: “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
Her voice was tearful and quavering, and he said: “I forgot to tell you when I came in that your minister has let us in nicely.”
“How so?”
He told her at length, with all details, the plan hatched between Laroche-Mathieu and Walter. When he had finished, she asked: “How do you know this?”
He replied: “You will excuse me not telling you. You have your means of information, which I do not seek to penetrate. I have mine, which I wish to keep to myself. I can, in any case, answer for the correctness of my information.”
Then she murmured: “Yes, it is quite possible. I fancied they were up to something without us.”
But George, who no longer felt sleepy, had drawn closer to his wife, and gently kissed her ear. She repulsed him sharply. “I beg of you to leave me alone. I am not in a mood to romp.” He turned resignedly towards the wall, and having closed his eyes, ended by falling asleep.
French
XIV
The church was draped with black, and over the main entrance a huge scutcheon, surmounted by a coronet, announced to the passersby that a gentleman was being buried. The ceremony was just over, and those present at it were slowly dispersing, defiling past the coffin and the nephew of the Count de Vaudrec, who was shaking extended hands and returning bows. When George Du Roy and his wife came out of the church they began to walk homeward side by side, silent and preoccupied. At length George said, as though speaking to himself: “Really, it is very strange.”
“What, dear?” asked Madeleine.
“That Vaudrec should not have left us anything.”
She blushed suddenly, as though a rosy veil had been cast over her white skin, and said: “Why should he have left us anything? There was no reason for it.” Then, after a few moments’ silence, she went on: “There is perhaps a will in the hands of some notary. We know nothing as yet.”
He reflected for a short time, and then murmured: “Yes, it is probable, for, after all, he was the most intimate friend of us both. He dined with us twice a week, called at all hours, and was at home at our place, quite at home in every respect. He loved you like a father, and had no children, no brothers and sisters, nothing but a nephew, and a nephew he never used to see. Yes, there must be a will. I do not care for much, only a remembrance to show that he thought of us, that he loved us, that he recognized the affection we felt for him. He certainly owed us some such mark of friendship.”
She said in a pensive and indifferent manner: “It is possible, indeed, that there may be a will.”
As they entered their rooms, the manservant handed a letter to Madeleine. She opened it, and then held it out to her husband. It ran as follows:
“Office of Maitre Lamaneur, Notary,
“17 Rue des Vosges.
“Madame: I have the honor to beg you to favor me with a call here on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday between the hours of two and four, on business concerning you. — I am, etc. — Lamaneur.”
George had reddened in turn. “That is what it must be,” said he. “It is strange, though, that it is you who are summoned, and not myself, who am legally the head of the family.”
She did not answer at once, but after a brief period of reflection, said: “Shall we go round there by and by?”
“Yes, certainly.”
They set out as soon as they had lunched. When they entered Maitre Lamaneur’s office, the head clerk rose with marked attention and ushered them in to his master. The notary was a round, little man, round all over. His head looked like a ball nailed onto another ball, which had legs so short that they almost resembled balls too. He bowed, pointed to two chairs, and turning towards Madeleine, said: “Madame, I have sent for you in order to acquaint you with the will of the Count de Vaudrec, in which you are interested.”
George could not help muttering: “I thought so.”
The notary went on: “I will read to you the document, which is very brief.”
He took a paper from a box in front of him, and read as follows:
“I, the undersigned, Paul Emile Cyprien Gontran, Count de Vaudrec, being sound in body and mind, hereby express my last wishes. As death may overtake us at any moment, I wish,