by George Sand
As she hurled these imprecations at her sister, poor Louise grew weaker and weaker, and, finally, fell in a swoon at Valentine’s feet.
When she recovered consciousness, she had forgotten all that she had said. She nursed Valentine with devoted affection ; she covered her with kisses and tears. But she could not do away with the horrible impression which her involuntary avowal had produced. In the paroxysms of her fever, Valentine would throw herself into her arms and implore her forgiveness with all the ghastly terror of madness.
She died a week later. Religion afforded her some consolation in her last moments, and Louise’s love smoothed that painful journey from earth to heaven.
Louise had suffered so much that her faculties, broken to the yoke of sorrow, hardened in the fire of consuming passions, had acquired supernatural strength. She survived that crushing blow, and lived for her son’s sake.
Pierre Blutty never recovered from the effect of his mistake. Despite the unsusceptibility of his nature, remorse and grief devoured him secretly. He became moody, quarrelsome, irritable. Anything resembling a reproach angered him, because he inwardly reproached himself much more bitterly. He had little intercourse with his family during the year which followed his crime. Athénaïs made fruitless efforts to conceal the horror and repugnance which she felt at sight of him. Madame Lhéry hid to avoid seeing him, and Louise left the farm-house on the days when he was likely to come there. He sought consolation for his troubles in wine, and succeeded in diverting his thoughts by getting tipsy every day. One night he went out and jumped into the river which he mistook for a sandy road in the white moonlight. The peasants observed, as an instance of the justice of Heaven in meting out punishment, that his death occurred just a year after Bénédict’s, day for day and hour for hour.
Several years later there were many noticeable changes in the neighborhood. Athénaïs, having come into possession of the two hundred thousand francs bequeathed to her by her godfather the iron-master, purchased the château of Raimbault and the surrounding estates. Monsieur Lhéry, spurred on by his wife to that display of vanity, sold his property, or rather exchanged it—at a loss, the malicious gossips said—for the remaining estates of the former domain of Raimbault. So the worthy farmer-folk were installed in the splendid abode of their former lords, and the young widow was able to gratify those luxurious tastes which she had been taught in her childhood.
XXXIX
Louise, who had returned to Paris to complete her son’s education, was urged to come and settle down near her faithful friend. Valentin had received his degree in medicine. They urged him to settle in the province, where Monsieur Faure, who was getting too old to practise, would gladly turn over his patients to him.
So Louise and her son returned, and received a most sincere and affectionate welcome at the hands of that excellent family. During their long absence, young Valentin had became a man. His beauty, his learning, his modesty, his many noble qualities, won for him the esteem and affection of those who were most uncompromising on the subject of birth. However, he was lawfully entitled to bear the name of Raimbault. Madame Lhéry did not forget it, and said to her husband, under her breath, that it was worth but little to be a landowner if one were not a noble ; which signified, in other words, that their daughter lacked nothing except the name and title of their former masters. Monsieur Lhéry considered the young physician very young.
“What of that?” said Mère Lhéry; “our Athénaïs is very young too. Aren’t you and I the same age ? Have we been any the less happy for that ?”
Père Lhéry was more practical than his wife. He said that money attracts money; that his daughter was a good enough match to aspire not only to a noble, but to a rich land-owner. But he had to surrender, for Madame Blutty’s former inclination reawoke with fresh intensity when she found her young schoolboy so tall and so accomplished. Louise hesitated ; Valentin, torn between love and pride, allowed himself to be convinced by the fair widow’s burning glances. Athénaïs became his wife.
She could not resist the longing to be announced in the aristocratic salons of the neighborhood by the title of Comtesse de Raimbault. The neighbors turned up their noses, some in contempt, others from envy. The real Comtesse de Raimbault brought suit against her for her presumption ; but she died, and no one else thought of making trouble. Athénaïs was a good soul, and she was happy. Her husband, who was blessed with Valentine’s excellent disposition and good judgment, easily controlled her, and corrected many of her failings by gentle means. Those which she still retains add to her charm, and make her as popular as estimable qualities would do, for she acknowledges them so frankly.
The Lhéry family is laughed at in the neighborhood for its vanities and its absurdities; but no poor man is turned away from the door of the château ; no neighbor seeks a favor there in vain ; the mockery is born of jealousy rather than of pity. If some one of Lhéry’s old companions happens to indulge in some labored witticism touching the change in his fortunes, the old man finds consolation in the fact that the slightest advance on his part is welcomed with pride and gratitude.
Louise has found rest with her new family from the fatigues of her sad career. The age of passion has vanished behind her; her daily thoughts are tinged with religious melancholy. Her greatest delight is to superintend the education of her fair-haired little granddaughter, who perpetuates the beloved name of Valentine, and who constantly reminds her very youthful grandmother of that cherished sister’s early years. The traveller, as he passes the village cemetery, frequently sees the lovely child playing at Louise’s feet, and plucking the cowslips that grow on the double grave of Valentine and Bénédict.