The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1896-05-06
THE WILL.

knew this tall young man who was
called Rene de Bourneval. He was very
agreeable in company, although trifle
sad, seeming to dislike everything, very
skeptical.-a formal and biting skep-
ticism-clevcr especially in laying bare
in one word worldly hypocrisies. He
often repeated, There are no virtuous
men-or at least they are only relative
ly temperate.
He had two brothers whom he did not
visit, the MN. de Courcils. On account
Of their different names / believed him
the offspring Of second marriage. l
had been told on several occasions that
a strange story had happened in this
family, but no details had been given
me.
This man being entirely agreeable to
me, we We're soon good friends. One
evening, after l had dined with him, l
accidentally asked him, Were you
the offspring of your mothers first or
second marTiage?" l saw him turn
slightly pale, then blush, and he re-
mained some seconds without speaking,
visibly embarrassed. Then he smiled
which was peculiar to him and said:
"My dear friend, if it does not tire You,
will give you some singular details
of my parentagc. / know you for an
intelligent man. lido not therefore fear
your friendship for me will suffer, and
if it should suffer / should no longer
care TO have you for friend.
MY mother, Nine de Courc Is, was
poor, timid little woman, Wi III her
husband had married for her fortune.
Her -Yhole life was n martyrdom. AZ
fectionate, fearful, delicate, she was i'll
treated without intermission by him
who should have been my father, one of
those churls who are called country
gentlemen. After they had been married
a month he lived with servant. He
had besides for mistrcsses the wives and
daughters Of his tenants. This did not
prevent his wife from having two chill
dren; including myself, three should be
reckoned. My mother said nothing.
She lived in that ever noisy house like
those little mice that slip in and out
under the furniture. Effacing herself,
flying away, trembling, she looked Mt
people with her clear, restless eyes,
which, always in motion, looked scared
with the fear that never left them. She
was still pretty, very pretty-very fair
with grayish fairness, timid fair
ness, as if her hair had faded little
from her incessant fear.
Among the friends of M. de Cour-
ellis who came frequently to the castle
was an old cavalry officer, widower,
O formidable man, tender and violent,
capable Of the most energetic resolves
M. de Bournoval, whose name l bear
He was tall, spare fellow, with Il
heavy black mustache. resemble him
very much. This man had read and
thought far more than those of his class.
His great grandmother had been lover
Of jean jacques Rousseau, and it was
said that he had inherited something
from this connection of his ancestress.
He knew 5y heart the Social Con-
tract, the Now Heloise' and all
those philosophical books which have
prepared beforehand the future ove'-
throw of cur ancient customs, of our
prejudices, our obsolete laws, our foolish
morals. i.f ~ ! il ~
"Ho loved my mother, it appeared,
and was loved by her. This affair was
kept so ssoat that no one suspected it.
The poor woman, sad and abandoned,
clung to him desperately and imbibed
all his habits Of Thought, theories Of
free opinion, boldness Of independent
love; bat, as she was so timid that she
never dared speak lcudy, all cf it was
driven back, condensed, pressed into
her heart which was never opened.
my two brothers were harsh to-
ward her, like my father-did not caress
her-and, accustomed to seeing that she
did not count fer any hing in the house,
treated her almost like servant.
II was the only one of her SONS who
really loved her and whom she loved.
''She diea. was then IS. ought
to add, in order that you may under
stand what is to follow, that, by legal
advice, her husband had been provided
for, and she had retained her own sepa-
rate estate, having, thanks to the arti-
fees Of the law and the intelligent de-
votion of a notary, preserved the right
to make her will as she pleased.
''We Were. therefore. informed by
this notary that will existed and in
vited to be present ut its reading.
II recall it as il it Were yesterday.
1t was u grand. dramatic, burlesque,
surprising scene, called forth by the
posthumous revolt of the dead woman,
by this cry of liberty, this claim frmn
the depth of the grave of this martyr
crushed by our morals during her life.
From her shut coffin she threw II de-
spairing appeal toward INDEPENDENCE
"He who believed himself my g.
ther, u stout, plethoric man, who put
one in mind Of butcher, and my broth-