Women -- France -- Fiction; Women's rights -- Fiction
This time he spoke in a high, penetrating voice. It was a rich voice
of wide compass. His gestures were quiet or animated, according to the
circumstances, but always dignified and impressive; the expression on
his short, Socratic face was never anything but fine. He had all the
qualities of an orator; but there was no vanity in his display of them.
He spoke in the plain, concise style that he had been obliged to acquire
in his recent intercourse with men, in discussions about their practical
interests.
“When Mademoiselle de Mauprat was shot,” he said, “I was not more than a
dozen paces from her; but the brushwood at that spot is so thick that I
could not see more than two paces in front of me. They had persuaded me
to take part in the hunt; but it gave me but little pleasure. Finding
myself near Gazeau Tower, where I lived for some twenty years, I felt an
inclination to see my old cell again, and I was bearing down upon it at
a great pace when I heard a shot. That did not frighten me in the least;
it seemed but natural that there should be some gun fired during a
battue. But when I got through the thicket, that is to day, some two
minutes later, I found Edmee--excuse me, I generally call her by this
name; I am, so to speak, a sort of foster-father to her--I found Edmee
on her knees upon the ground, wounded as you have been told, and still
holding the bridle of her horse, which was rearing. She did not know
whether she was seriously or slightly wounded, but she had her other
hand on her breast, and she was saying:
“‘Bernard, this is hideous! I should never have thought that you would
kill me. Bernard, where are you? Come and see me die. This will kill
father!’
“As she said this she let go the horse’s bridle and fell to the ground.
I rushed towards her.
“‘Ah, you saw it, Patience?’ she said. ‘Do not speak about it; do not
tell my father . . .’
“She threw out her arms, and her body became rigid. I thought that she
was dead. She spoke no more until night, after they had extracted the
bullets from her breast.”
“Did you then see Bernard de Mauprat?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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