While Daniel was speaking a sudden inspiration lit up the pale face of Madame de Rionne; she drew herself up to a sitting posture, rallying her strength and fighting against her pain.
“You are right,” said she; “I have a mission to entrust you with. God Himself has set you there on your knees by my deathbed. Heaven made me give you a helping hand in order that you in your turn might one day help me. Rise up, my friend, for I now beg of you to console and support me.”
And when Daniel had risen and sat down, she said:
“Listen, my time is short; I must tell you all. I besought God that a good angel might come to me — I am willing to believe that you are the angel whom He sends me. I believe in you for I have seen you weep.”
And then she hastily poured out to him all she had in her heart. She forgot she was speaking to a child. This poor soul, torn with anxiety, opened her heart and consoled herself by revealing in death what she had hidden in life.
The young man’s ardent and humble reverence had softened the woman’s stoic courage. She was happy in making her confession at last, to be able, before leaving the world, to confide in some one all the bitterness of her past life. She did not complain; she simply unburdened her heart.
“I spent my life,” she said, “in loneliness and tears. I must tell you these things, my friend, in order that you may understand my sufferings. You pictured me as a joyous being; you have set me on a pinnacle of glory and happiness. Alas! I am only a poor woman who, during long, weary years, has inured herself to misery. And, though I am shedding tears, I call to mind the joys of my youth. What a blessed thing was my childhood there, in Provence! At that time I was proud; I had determined to fight the battle of life bravely, but only emerged from the fight with a bleeding heart.”
Daniel listened, barely understanding her, believing that the delirium of the death agony was creeping over her.
“I married a man,” she exclaimed, “whom I could not love, and who soon drove me back to the solitude of my young days. Henceforth I had to stifle my feelings. Very soon Monsieur de Rionne took to his bachelor ways. I met him now and then at meals. I knew his daily life was an insult to me. And so I shut myself up with my little girl in a corner of the house; I looked upon it as my convent, and I vowed to live as if I were really cloistered there. At times my whole being was in revolt, and I could only appear serene and victorious at the price of much hidden suffering.”
“What!” thought Daniel, “is this what life really is? My saint has indeed suffered! She, whom I delighted to contemplate as a superior being, quite happy, quite divine, was all the time weeping with misery, while I adored her as one above all pain. Is there nothing, then, in the world but sorrow? Does heaven not even spare such souls as are worthy of it? What a terrifying world is ours! When I thought of my benefactress, I imagined her in joy and peace, sheltered from evil by her goodness; she seemed to me serene, like those holy women who have halos round their heads and peaceful smiles on their lips. But what do I find? Only that she weeps, because she has cause, and her heart bleeds like mine, and she is my sister in suffering.”
His heart was wounded. He was silent, terrified at the sad picture which rose up before him. For this was the first step he made in the knowledge of life; all the ignorance of his being revolted face to face with the injustice of evil. He would not have shuddered thus if it had not been a question of one so beloved; but the cruel reality had been revealed, wounding his inmost feelings. A shivering fear, as it were, seized him, for he felt that from that time forward he must face the sternest facts of life. Notwithstanding, his desire for self-sacrifice impelled him to listen intently to this last confession. He considered that he was receiving solemn commands, and so he waited for his duty to be prescribed for him.
His continued silence compelled Madame de Rionne to understand what was passing through his mind. She felt him tremble like a timid child, and she almost regretted that she had troubled this hitherto tranquil heart. A kind of coquetry came upon her, and she almost wished that he should always think of her as a noble and upright soul rather than as one who had been subject like others to human weakness.
“I am speaking to you of sad things,” she continued, “and I know not even if you understand me thoroughly. However, I must speak out, and you must forgive me. I am confessing to you as to a priest — a priest has, so to speak, no age; he is only a soul that listens. You are now merely a child, and my words terrify you. When you are a man you will recollect them. They will teach you what a woman can suffer; they will tell you what I expect of your devotion.”
At this point Daniel interrupted her.
“Do you think I am a coward?” he asked. “I am only ignorant. Life frightens me because I do not know it, and it appears all black to me. But I will enter it with a firm will if you are concerned in its purpose. Speak! What is my mission to be?”
Blanche drew him near her and in a low voice, as if she was afraid of being overheard, she said:
“You have seen my little girl, my poor Jeanne, who was playing here just now. She has just turned six. I am going away without knowing her, so to speak, without being able to tell whether there is good or bad in her. This uncertainty doubles my sufferings and makes death indeed awful to me. And I say to myself: I am leaving this child quite alone. I reflect that perhaps she will, like me, be wounded by hardhearted people, and may be she will not have the courage I have had in facing it.” With a wave of her hand, the dying woman seemed to drive away a disturbing vision.
“I said to myself,” she continued, “I should always be near her, preparing a happy life for her, training her heart. When I felt death coming I sought for some one to fill my place and I found none. My parents are dead.
I have led a cloistered life. I have made no friends, and Monsieur de Rionne has only one sister, given up to luxury, in whom Jeanne would find a bad example, and I am terrified at the very thought of my husband taking charge of her. I have told you enough for you to understand the fear that seizes me when I contemplate my little girl falling into his hands. I wish to protect my child from him.”
Once again she paused and then added: “You see now, my friend, what your mission is. The task I give you is to watch over my child. I desire you to be as a guardian angel to her.”
Daniel knelt down, and he trembled with emotion. He was unable to speak, and the only answer he could give, the only thanks he could give utterance to, was to kiss Madame de Rionne’s hand.
“It is a hard task,” she said as she went on, “I am imposing upon you. Death presses me close, and I must hurry on without knowing how much you will be able to accomplish. I dare not think of difficulties in store for you, or the strange part you will have to play. Heaven has been good in sending you here, and in granting this consolation to my heart. And heaven will still be kind, and help you in your trust, and guard you in your perils. Only, remember my last wish, and walk firmly on. I trust to your devotion.”
At last Daniel, full of emotion, was able to speak.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” he exclaimed. “Now I shall truly live. How good of you to have thought of me, to have had confidence in me! You shower benefits upon me even to the last.”
A motion from Blanche interrupted him.
“Let me finish. My pride prevented me from withholding my money from my husband; what he asked me for I granted him. At the present moment I have no idea how we stand. No doubt my daughter will be poor, and it is almost pleasant for me to think so. I only regret not to be able to leave you some money.”
“Regret nothing,” cried Daniel. “I will work. Heaven will provide for all.”