The scamp will wish me dead; I expect
it,--or he won't be my son."
He rang the bell, and ordered the servant to serve breakfast.
"The fashionable world wouldn't see you in your mother's bedroom,"
said Bixiou. "What would it cost you to seem to love that poor woman
for a few hours?"
"Whew!" cried Philippe, winking. "So you come from them, do you? I'm
an old camel, who knows all about genuflections. My mother makes the
excuse of her last illness to get something out of me for Joseph. No,
thank you!"
When Bixiou related this scene to Joseph, the poor painter was chilled
to the very soul.
"Does Philippe know I am ill?" asked Agathe in a piteous tone, the day
after Bixiou had rendered an account of his fruitless errand.
Joseph left the room, suffocating with emotion. The Abbe Loraux, who
was sitting by the bedside of his penitent, took her hand and pressed
it, and then he answered, "Alas! my child, you have never had but one
son."
The words, which Agathe understood but too well, conveyed a shock
which was the beginning of the end. She died twenty hours later.
In the delirium which preceded death, the words, "Whom does Philippe
take after?" escaped her.
Joseph followed his mother to the grave alone. Philippe had gone, on
business it was said, to Orleans; in reality, he was driven from Paris
by the following letter, which Joseph wrote to him a moment after
their mother had breathed her last sigh:--
Monster! my poor mother has died of the shock your letter caused
her.
Pages:
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703