The Mystery of Orcival by Émile Gaboriau (fiction book recommendations .TXT) 📕

She occupied herself constantly about this will, and during the long hours that she passed at Sauvresy’s bedside, she gradually, with the greatest craft and delicacy, led her husband’s mind in the direction of his last testament, with such success that he himself mentioned the subject which so absorbed Bertha.

He said that he did not comprehend why people did not always have their worldly affairs in order, and their wishes fully written down, in case of accident. What difference did it make whether one were ill or well? At these words Bertha attempted to stop him. Such ideas, she said, pained her too much. She even shed real tears, which fell down her cheeks and made her more beautiful and irresistible than before; real tears which moistened her handkerchief.

“You dear silly creature,” said Sauvresy, “do you think that makes one die?”

“No; but I do not wish it.”

“But, dear, have we been any the less happy because, on the day after our marriage, I made a will bequeathing you all my fortune? And, stop; you have a copy of it, haven’t you? If you were kind, you would go and fetch it for me.”

She became very red, then very pale. Why did he ask for this copy? Did he want to tear it up? A sudden thought reassured her; people do not tear up a document which can be cancelled by a scratch of the pen on another sheet of paper. Still, she hesitated a moment.

“I don’t know where it can be.”

“But I do. It is in the left-hand drawer of the glass cupboard; come, please me by getting it.”

While she was gone, Sauvresy said to Hector:

“Poor girl! Poor dear Bertha! If I died, she never would survive me!”

Trémorel thought of nothing to reply; his anxiety was intense and visible.

“And this man,” thought he, “suspects something! No; it is not possible.”

Bertha returned.

“I have found it,” said she.

“Give it to me.”

He took the copy of his will, and read it with evident satisfaction, nodding his head at certain passages in which he referred to his love for his wife. When he had finished reading, he said:

“Now give me a pen and some ink.”

Hector and Bertha reminded him that it would fatigue him to write; but he insisted. The two guilty ones, seated at the foot of the bed and out of Sauvresy’s sight, exchanged looks of alarm. What was he going to write? But he speedily finished it.

“Take this,” said he to Trémorel, “and read aloud what I have just added.”

Hector complied with his friend’s request, with trembling voice:

“This day, being sound in mind, though much suffering, I declare that I do not wish to change a line of this will. Never have I loved my wife more⁠—never have I so much desired to leave her the heiress of all I possess, should I die before her.

“Clement Sauvresy.”

Mistress of herself as Bertha was, she succeeded in concealing the unspeakable satisfaction with which she was filled. All her wishes were accomplished, and yet she was able to veil her delight under an apparent sadness.

“Of what good is this?” said she, with a sigh.

She said this, but half an hour afterward, when she was alone with Hector, she gave herself up to the extravagance of her delight.

“Nothing more to fear,” exclaimed she. “Nothing! Now we shall have liberty, fortune, love, pleasure, life! Why, Hector, we shall have at least three millions; you see, I’ve got this will myself, and I shall keep it. No more agents or notaries shall be admitted into this house henceforth. Now I must hasten!”

The count certainly felt a satisfaction in knowing her to be rich, for he could much more easily get rid of a millionnaire widow than of a poor penniless woman. Sauvresy’s conduct thus calmed many sharp anxieties. Her restless gayety, however, her confident security, seemed monstrous to Hector. He would have wished for more solemnity in the execution of the crime; he thought that he ought at least to calm Bertha’s delirium.

“You will think more than once of Sauvresy,” said he, in a graver tone.

She answered with a “prrr,” and added vivaciously:

“Of him? when and why? Oh, his memory will not weigh on me very heavily. I trust that we shall be able to live still at Valfeuillu, for the place pleases me; but we must also have a house at Paris⁠—or we will buy yours back again. What happiness, Hector!”

The mere prospect of this anticipated felicity so shocked Hector, that his better self for the moment got the mastery; he essayed to move Bertha.

“For the last time,” said he, “I implore you to renounce this terrible, dangerous project. You see that you were mistaken⁠—that Sauvresy suspects nothing, but loves you as well as ever.”

The expression of Bertha’s face suddenly changed; she sat quite still, in a pensive revery.

“Don’t let’s talk any more of that,” said she, at last. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps he only had doubts⁠—perhaps, although he has discovered something, he hopes to win me back by his goodness. But you see⁠—”

She stopped. Doubtless she did not wish to alarm him.

He was already much alarmed. The next day he went off to Melun without a word; being unable to bear the sight of this agony, and fearing to betray himself. But he left his address, and when she sent word that Sauvresy was always crying out for him, he hastily returned. Her letter was most imprudent and absurd, and made his hair stand on end. He had intended, on his arrival, to reproach her; but it was she who upbraided him.

“Why this flight?”

“I could not stay here⁠—I suffered, trembled, felt as if I were dying.”

“What a coward you are!”

He would have replied, but she put her finger on his mouth, and pointed with her other hand to the door of the next room.

“Sh! Three doctors have been in consultation there for the past hour, and I haven’t been able to hear a word of what they said. Who knows