Volume I Part 31 (2/2)
”My papa was very nice-looking, wasn't he, mamma?”
”Oh! yes, my child! he was as handsome as he was n.o.ble and generous; a little hasty only, and quick to lose his temper; that was the only fault I ever discovered in Adhemar. The last time he came to see us, he said to me: 'In a few days we will start for Italy; it is your native land, Julia, and I want to see it with you; then we will return to France and I will leave you no more.'”
”And you have never seen him since?”
”No; and no news of him, no letter! nothing from him! nothing!”
”But you must have made inquiries, have tried to learn something?”
”When a week had pa.s.sed without my seeing Adhemar--ordinarily he never let more than two days pa.s.s without coming to us--I decided to go to the hotel where he had told me that he lived; it was one of the finest hotels in Paris. I asked for Monsieur Adhemar de--I asked for Monsieur Adhemar, and the concierge a.s.sured me that he had left the hotel six days before.
”'He can't have gone away,' I said; 'if he has, where has he gone?'
”As that man knew nothing, I went to the hotel-keeper himself, who said to me:
”'Madame, I am quite as surprised as you are at the absence of Monsieur de--of Monsieur Adhemar. I know that he intended to go to Italy, he had spoken of it several times; but when he left the house six days ago, he said simply: ”I am going into the country; I shall return to-morrow morning.”'
”'And he has not returned since?'
”'No, madame.'
”'Where was he going in the country?'
”'Mon Dieu! he didn't tell me; he had received a letter that morning--probably an invitation.'
”'And he went away alone?'
”'Alone, yes, madame. But he will surely return; he has left his linen here, and property of much greater value than the amount of his bill, for he paid every week. He's a young man of orderly habits, and he will return, madame; he is bound to return. The probability is that he's enjoying himself in the country and so is making a longer stay there than he intended.'
”'I will return in a few days then,' I said, as I went away. And I did in fact go there again the second day after. But Adhemar had not been seen! So it went on for a month; until at last I had to abandon all hope.”
”But his family--didn't you know them?”
”I knew from Adhemar that his family lived in the neighborhood of Toulouse; they were uncles and aunts, all proud of their rank and t.i.tles, and they did not condescend to answer the letters I wrote them.
At last, someone who was going to that part of the country was obliging enough to make inquiries of several persons, and they told him that Monsieur Adhemar had not been seen by his relations, but that they took little interest in his fate, for they knew that, heedless of his name and his birth, he had contracted in Paris a liaison unworthy of him; and if he did not break off that liaison, he would never be received again by his n.o.ble family. That is all that I learned concerning him whom I loved better than my life. Ah! if it had not been for my daughter, his disappearance would have killed me; but what would have become of my little Agathe, without friends or kindred on earth? I felt that I must live for her, for her whom her father loved so dearly! And that is what I did; I lived, but I have never been comforted!--Alas! suppose that he died far away from us--unable to embrace us once more, to bid us a last farewell, and above all, to ensure the future welfare of his daughter!
Poor Adhemar! think what his anguish must have been, his despair, at the thought that he left us here in misery! Oh! that idea haunts me incessantly and intensifies the bitterness of my regrets.”
This conversation was often renewed between the new friends, for Madame Montoni was never tired of talking of her Agathe's father. In those soothing outpourings of her soul, she concealed nothing from Honorine, whereas she kept one thing secret from her daughter.
Several years pa.s.sed; Madame Montoni, exhausted by toil and grief, soon lost her little remaining strength. Feeling that she must soon say farewell to life, she placed in Honorine's hand the hand of her daughter, then twelve years of age, and said to little Agathe:
”Honorine will take my place with you; love her as you loved your mother. Heaven has at least vouchsafed that I should leave with you a sister, a friend! Some day, my daughter, she will tell you what your mother has never dared to tell you; and you will forgive your mother, because she loved you dearly and has suffered much for your sake. Now I am going to join my Adhemar, your father, and from above we will both watch over our child. But if fate has decreed that he is not dead, and that you are to see him again some day, oh! tell him that, until my last hour, his image was always here--in my heart!”
Agathe's tears and Honorine's prayers were powerless to suspend the decree of destiny! Madame Montoni closed her eyes forever.
”Death's rigors have no like; Vain our entreaties all; His tyrant hand will strike; Our plaints on deaf ears fall.”
After Madame Montoni's death, Honorine took Agathe with her, and from that moment they were never separated.
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