Avarice-Anger Part 30

The home stood upon a high knoll in a location as pleasant as it was salubrious, and large shady grounds surrounded the s.p.a.cious building.

The night was clear and still; spring perfumes filled the air, and when the old man reached the spot he found the people ranged in a half-circle around the steps of the building, no room inside being large enough to hold the crowd.

Soon Louis Richard, according to his custom each year, came out upon the perron, and said:

"My friends, five years ago to-night I lost the best and kindest of fathers. He died a frightful death in that terrible catastrophe on the Versailles railway. My father, being the possessor of a handsome fortune, might have lived in luxury and idleness. On the contrary, he preferred to lead a frugal and industrious life, so while he denied himself all comforts, and earned his bread by his daily toil, his wealth slowly but surely increased day by day; but when the day of his premature death came, I had to mourn one of the warmest friends of humanity, for nearly all his wealth was devoted to the accomplishment of three great and n.o.ble works: the amelioration of the condition,--

"First, Of poor children deprived of the advantages of an elementary education.

"Secondly, Of poor but honest and industrious young girls who are too often exposed to terrible temptation by reason of ill health, inadequate wages, and poverty.

"And lastly, Of aged or infirm women who, after a long life of toil, are incapacitated for further labour.

"True, the result accomplished each year is painfully small when one thinks of the ills of humanity, but he who does all the good he can, even if he only shares his crust with his starving brother, does his duty as n.o.bly as the person who gives millions.

"It is the duty of every right-minded man to make every possible effort to improve the condition of his fellow men; but in this work I am acting only as my father's agent, and the accomplishment of this glorious duty would fill my life with unbounded happiness if I were not obliged to mourn the loss of the most beloved of parents."

Louis Richard had scarcely uttered these last words when quite a commotion became apparent in the crowd, for the aged stranger's strength seemed suddenly to fail him, and he would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the friendly support of those near him.

On hearing the cause of the hubbub, Louis Richard hastened to the old man's aid, and had him taken into the home in order that he might receive immediate attention, after which he requested the bridal parties to adjourn to the immense tent, where supper was to be served, and where Madame Lacombe and Mariette would do the honours in his absence.

The old man had been carried in an unconscious condition to Louis's office, a room on the ground floor. His profound respect for his father's memory had prevented him from parting with the furniture of the room he and his father had shared so long. The writing-desk, the old bureau, the antique chest, as well as the cheap painted bedstead, all had been kept, and it was on this same bed the unconscious man was laid.

As soon as he entered the room Louis despatched the servant to a neighbouring drug store for some spirits, so he was left alone with the patient, whose features were almost entirely concealed by his long white hair and beard.

Louis took the old man's hand to feel his pulse, but as he did so the patient made a slight movement and uttered a few incoherent words.

The voice sounded strangely familiar to Louis, and he endeavoured to get a better look at the stranger's features, but the dim light that pervaded the room and the patient's long hair and beard rendered the attempt futile.

A moment more and Louis Richard's guest languidly raised his head and gazed around him. His eyes having fallen on the rather peculiarly shaped gray bedstead, he made a movement of surprise, but when he saw the old-fas.h.i.+oned chest, he exclaimed, excitedly:

"Where am I? My G.o.d, is this a dream?"

Again the voice struck Louis as being so familiar that he, too, gave a slight start, but almost immediately shaking his head and smiling bitterly, he muttered under his breath:

"Alas! regret often gives rise to strange illusions." Then addressing the old man in affectionate tones, he asked:

"How do you feel now, my good father?"

On hearing these words, the old man, seizing Louis's hand, covered it with tears and kisses before the latter could prevent it.

"Come, come, my good father," said Mariette's husband, surprised and touched, "I have done nothing to deserve such grat.i.tude on your part. I may be more fortunate some day, however. But tell me how you feel now.

Was it weakness or overfatigue that caused your fainting fit?"

The old man made no reply, but pressed Louis's hand convulsively to his panting breast. The younger man, conscious of a strange and increasing emotion, felt the tears spring to his eyes.

"Listen to me, my good father," he began.

"Oh, say that once more--just once more," murmured the old man, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Ah, well, my good father--"

But Louis did not finish the sentence, for his guest, unable to restrain himself any longer, raised himself up in bed, at the same time exclaiming, in a voice vibrating with tenderness:

"Louis!"

That name, uttered with all the pa.s.sion of a despairing soul, was a revelation.

The younger man turned as pale as death, started back, and stood as if petrified, with fixed, staring eyes.

The shock was too great, and several seconds elapsed before the thought, "My father is not dead," could penetrate his brain.

Does not the sudden transition from intense darkness into bright sunlight blind us for a time?

But when the blissful truth dawned upon Louis's mind, he threw himself on his knees by the old man's bedside, and, putting back his long white locks with a feverish hand, studied his father's features with eager, radiant eyes, until, convinced beyond a doubt, he could only murmur in a sort of ecstasy: "My father, oh, G.o.d, my father!"

The scene that ensued between father and son beggars description; but when the first transports of happiness had given place to a momentary calm, Father Richard said to his son:

"I will tell you my story in a few words, my dear Louis. I have been asleep for five years, and woke only forty-eight hours ago."

"What do you mean?"

"I was with poor Ramon and his daughter in one of the worst wrecked carriages. In some providential way my life was saved, though my right leg was broken, and fright deprived me of reason."

"You, father?"

"Yes, I became insane with terror. I lost my reason completely. Removed from the scene of the catastrophe, my fractured limb was set in the home of a worthy physician, and after I recovered from that injury I was taken to an insane asylum near Versailles. My lunacy was of a harmless type. I talked only of my lost wealth. For nearly four years there was no change in my condition, but at the end of that time a slight improvement became apparent. This continued until my recovery became complete, though I was not allowed to leave the hospital until two days ago. It would be impossible to describe my feelings on my entire restoration to reason, when I woke as I told you from my long five years' sleep. My first thought, I blush to confess, was one of avarice.

What had become of my property? What use had you made of it? When I was released from the hospital yesterday, the first thing I did was to hasten to my notary, your former employer, and my friend. You can imagine his astonishment. He told me that at first it was your intention to leave the property untouched, that is, except for a small stipend for your maintenance and that of your wife, until you attained the age of thirty-six; but after a serious illness, thinking that death might overtake you before you had accomplished what you considered a sacred duty, you changed your mind, and came to consult him in regard to certain plans, to which he gave his unqualified approval. 'What were these plans?' I asked. 'Have the courage to wait until to-morrow night,'

he replied; 'then, go to the church of Chaillot, and you will know all, and thank G.o.d for having given you such a son.' I did wait, my dear Louis. My long beard and my white hair changed me a great deal, but I stained my skin to disguise myself more completely, and to enable me to approach you without any danger of recognition. Oh, if you knew all I have seen and heard, my dear, n.o.ble child! My name revered and blessed, thanks to your n.o.bility of soul and the subterfuge prompted by your filial love! Ah, what a revulsion of feeling this wrought in me. But, alas! the illusion was of short duration. I had no hand whatever in the n.o.ble deeds attributed to me."

"How can you say that, father? But for your self-denial and perseverance, how could I ever have done any good? Did you not leave me the means of accomplis.h.i.+ng it, an all-powerful lever? My only merit consisted in having made a good use of the immense power bequeathed to me by you at the cost of so many privations on your part, and in realising the duties wealth imposed upon me. The terrible poverty and the lack of education from which my beloved wife had suffered so much, and the perils to which this poverty and lack of education had exposed her, her G.o.dmother's cruel suffering,--all had served to enlighten me as to the needs of the poor, and all three of us longed to do everything in our power to save others from the ills we had suffered. But after all, it is your work, not mine. I have reaped; it was you who sowed."

The door suddenly opened, and Florestan Saint-Herem rushed in, and threw himself into his friend's arms with so much impetuosity that he did not even see Father Richard.

"Embrace me, Louis, rejoice with me!" he exclaimed. "You are my best friend, and you shall be the first to hear the news. I knew I should find you here, so I did not lose a minute in coming to tell you that Saint-Ramon has proved a saint indeed, for he has just worked the most wonderful of miracles."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, two hours ago I was utterly ruined, but now I am far richer than I ever have been. Think of it, Louis, gold mines and silver mines, and diamonds by the bushel,--fabulous wealth, in short, wealth amounting to dozens of millions. Oh, Saint-Ramon, Saint-Ramon, blessed be thy name for ever! I was right to canonise thee, for thou hast not proved ungrateful, thank Heaven!"

"For pity's sake, explain, Florestan."

"An hour ago, just as the entertainment I was giving to those honest workmen was drawing to a close, one of my servants came to inform me that a lady wished to see me in private. Who should it be but the Countess Zomaloff, a young and charming widow, who was to have married the Duc de Riancourt a week from now. Earlier in the evening she had come to look at my house, with a view to purchasing it. She had purchased it, in fact. Astonished to see her again, I stood perfectly silent for a moment. And what do you suppose she said to me, in the most natural tone imaginable?

"'A thousand pardons for disturbing you, M. de Saint-Herem. I can say all I have to say in a couple of words. I am a widow. I am twenty-eight years old. I have no idea why I promised Riancourt that I would marry him, though very possibly I might have made this foolish marriage if I had not met you. You have a generous heart and a n.o.ble soul. The entertainment you gave this evening proves that. Your wit delights me, your character charms me, your goodness of heart touches me, and your personal appearance pleases me. So far as I, myself, am concerned, this step I am now taking should give you some idea of what kind of a person I am.