when he had done, he asked me to read it out, saying to me, “What a good thing it is to look after what are called our riches.”  ’Sunt haec, quoe hominibus vocantur bona’.  As soon as the will was signed, the chamber being full, he asked me if it would hurt him to talk.  I answered, that it would not, if he did not speak too loud.  He then summoned Mademoiselle de Saint Quentin, his niece, to him, and addressed her thus:  “Dear niece, since my earliest acquaintance with thee, I have observed the marks of, great natural goodness in thee; but the services which thou rendered to me, with so much affectionate diligence, in my present and last necessity, inspire me with high hopes of thee; and I am under great obligations to thee, and give thee most affectionate thanks.  Let me relieve my conscience by counselling thee to be, in the first place, devout, to God:  for this doubtless is our first duty, failing which all others can be of little advantage or grace, but which, duly observed, carries with it necessarily all other virtues.  After God, thou shouldest love thy father and mother—­thy mother, my sister, whom I regard as one of the best and most intelligent of women, and by whom I beg of thee to let thy own life be regulated.  Allow not thyself to be led away by pleasures; shun, like the plague, the foolish familiarities thou seest between some men and women; harmless enough at first, but which by insidious degrees corrupt the heart, and thence lead it to negligence, and then into the vile slough of vice.  Credit me, the greatest safeguard to female chastity is sobriety of demeanour.  I beseech and direct that thou often call to mind the friendship which was betwixt us; but I do not wish thee to mourn for me too much—­an injunction which, so far as it is in my power, I lay on all my friends, since it might seem that by doing so they felt a jealousy of that blessed condition in which I am about to be placed by death.  I assure thee, my dear, that if I had the option now of continuing in life or of completing the voyage on which I have set out, I should find it very hard to choose.  Adieu, dear niece.”

Mademoiselle d’Arsat, his stepdaughter, was next called.  He said to her:  “Daughter, you stand in no great need of advice from me, insomuch as you have a mother, whom I have ever found most sagacious, and entirely in conformity with my own opinions and wishes, and whom I have never found faulty; with such a preceptress, you cannot fail to be properly instructed.  Do not account it singular that I, with no tie of blood to you, am interested in you; for, being the child of one who is so closely allied to me, I am necessarily concerned in what concerns you; and consequently the affairs of your brother, M. d’Arsat, have ever been watched by me with as much care as my own; nor perhaps will it be to your disadvantage that you were my step-daughter.  You enjoy sufficient store of wealth and beauty; you are a lady of good family; it only remains for you to add to these possessions the cultivation of your mind, in which I exhort you not to fail.  I do not think necessary to warn you against vice, a thing so odious in women, for I would not even suppose that you could harbour any inclination for it—­nay, I believe that you hold the very name in abhorrence.  Dear daughter, farewell.”