“Pah! all Corbeil prated about that at the time.”

M. Plantat made a movement with his lips as if to say, “I know other things besides.”  He went on, however, with his story.

“The visit of Count Hector made no change in the habits at the chateau.  Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy had a brother; that was all.  Sauvresy at this time made several journeys to Paris, where, as everybody knew, he was engaged in arranging his friend’s affairs.

“This charming existence lasted a year.  Happiness seemed to be fixed forever beneath the delightful shades of Valfeuillu.  But alas! one evening on returning from the hunt, Sauvresy became so ill that he was forced to take to his bed.  A doctor was called; inflammation of the chest had set in.  Sauvresy was young, vigorous as an oak; his state did not at first cause anxiety.  A fortnight afterward, in fact, he was up and about.  But he was imprudent and had a relapse.  He again nearly recovered; a week afterward there was another relapse, and this time so serious, that a fatal end of his illness was foreseen.  During this long sickness, the love of Bertha and the affection of Tremorel for Sauvresy were tenderly shown.  Never was an invalid tended with such solicitude—­surrounded with so many proofs of the purest devotion.  His wife and his friend were always at his couch, night and day.  He had hours of suffering, but never a second of weariness.  He repeated to all who went to see him, that he had come to bless his illness.  He said to himself, ’If I had not fallen ill, I should never have known how much I was beloved.’”

“He said the same thing to me,” interrupted the mayor, “more than a hundred times.  He also said so to Madame Courtois, to Laurence, my eldest daughter—­”

“Naturally,” continued M. Plantat.  “But Sauvresy’s distemper was one against which the science of the most skilful physicians and the most constant care contend in vain.

“He said that he did not suffer much, but he faded perceptibly, and was no more than the shadow of his former self.  At last, one night, toward two or three o’clock, he died in the arms of his wife and his friend.  Up to the last moment, he had preserved the full force of his faculties.  Less than an hour before expiring, he wished everyone to be awakened, and that all the servants of the castle should be summoned.  When they were all gathered about the bedside, he took his wife’s hand, placed it in that of the Count de Tremorel, and made them swear to marry each other when he was no more.  Bertha and Hector began to protest, but he insisted in such a manner as to compel assent, praying and adjuring them, and declaring that their refusal would embitter his last moments.  This idea of the marriage between his widow and his friend seems, besides, to have singularly possessed his thoughts toward the close of his life.  In the preamble of his will, dictated the night before his death, to M. Bury, notary of Orcival, he says formally that their union is his dearest wish, certain as he is of their happiness, and knowing well that his memory will be piously kept.”