It was said that the child died at St. Helena. The story remained in my
mind, and I brooded on it.
"Two years ago Prince Lucien died in my arms. When he was gone, I found
that I had been left five hundred thousand francs, a chateau, and several
relics of the Bonapartes, as reward for my services to the Prince, and,
as the will said, in token of the love he had come to bear me. To these
Prince Pierre added a number of mementoes. I went to visit my parents,
whom I had not seen for many years. I found that my mother was dead,
that my father was a drunkard. I left money for my father with the
mayor, and sailed for England. From London I came to New York; from New
York to Quebec. All the time I was restless, unhappy. I had had to work
all my life, now I had nothing to do. I had lived close to great
traditions, now there was no habit of life to keep them alive in me.
I spent money freely, but it gave me no pleasure. I once was a valet to
a great man, now I had the income of a gentleman, and was no gentleman.
Ah, do you not shrink from me, Monsieur le Cure?"
The Cure did not reply, but made a kindly gesture, and Valmond continued:
"Sick of everything, one day I left Quebec hurriedly.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82