"Excuse me," he said, "I am writing to my mother. You will find the morning papers there; if you can amuse yourself with them you will see a charming feuilleton by M. Mery in the _Presse._"
I took the paper thus indicated, and contrasted the livid pallor of the speaker with his calm and sweet voice.
I endeavoured to read, but I could not fix my attention, the letters brought no meaning with them.
In about five minutes Louis said,
"There, I have finished." And he rang for his valet.
"Joseph," said he, "I am at home to no one, not even to the Baron Giordano. If he calls, ask him to wait in the _salon._ I wish to be alone with this gentlemen for ten minutes."
The valet shut the door and disappeared.
"Now, my dear Alexander, listen. Giordano is a Corsican, and has Corsican ideas. I cannot, therefore, confide all I desire to him. I will ask him to keep the secret, that"s all. But as regards yourself, I wish you, if you will permit me, to request that you will promise to observe my instructions."
"Certainly. Is not that the duty of a second?"
"A duty more real than you imagine, for you can save our family a second misfortune if you will."
"A second misfortune!" I exclaimed.
"Wait. Read this letter."
I took the letter addressed to Madame de Franchi, and read as follows, with growing astonishment:--
"MY DEAREST MOTHER,--
"If I did not know that you possessed Spartan fort.i.tude allied with Christian submission, I would have used means to prepare you for the blow in store for you--for when you receive this letter you will have but one son!
"Lucien, my dear brother, love our mother for _both_ in future.
"For some time I have been suffering from brain fever. I paid no attention to the premonitory symptoms--the doctor came too late.
Darling mother, there is no hope for me now. I cannot be saved but by a miracle, and what right have I to suppose that Providence will work a miracle on my behalf?
"I am writing to you in a lucid interval. If I die, this letter will be posted immediately after my death; for in the selfishness of my love for you I wish that you should know that I am dead without regretting anything in the world except your tenderness and my brother"s.
"Adieu, mother!
"Do not weep for me. It is the soul that lives, not the body, and when the latter perishes the former will still live and love you.
"Adieu, Lucien! Never leave our mother; and remember that she has you only to look to now.
"Your Son, "Your Brother, "LOUIS DE FRANCHI."
When I had finished the letter I turned to the writer and said--
"Well, and what does this mean?"
"Do you not understand?" he said.
"No!"
"I am going to be shot at ten minutes past nine."
"You are going to be shot?"
"Yes."
"You are mad! Why, what has put such an idea into your head?"
"I am not mad, my dear friend. I have been warned--that"s all."
"Warned! By whom?"
"My brother has already told you, I think, that the male members of our family enjoy a singular privilege?"
"True," I replied, shuddering, in spite of myself. "He spoke to me about apparitions."
"Quite so. Well, then, my father appeared to me last night. That is why you find me so pallid. The sight of the dead pales the living!"
I gazed at him with astonishment, not unmixed with terror.
"You saw your father last night, you say?"
"Yes."
"And he spoke to you?"
"He announced my death!"
"Oh, it was some terrible dream!"
"It was a terrible _reality._"
"You were asleep, my friend."
"I was wide awake. Do you not believe that a father can appear to his son?"
I hung my head, for at the bottom of my heart I _did_ believe in the possibility.
"What pa.s.sed between you?" I asked.
"It is a very simple and very natural story. I was reading, expecting my father--for I knew if any danger threatened that he would appear to me--and at midnight the lamp burnt low, the door opened slowly, and my father appeared."
"In what form?" I asked.
"Just as if he were alive--dressed in his usual manner--only he was very pale, and his eyes were without expression."