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Updated: June 14, 2025
When Sauvresy had his last relapse, and complained of a severe neuralgia in the face and an irresistible craving for pepper, Dr. R had uttered a significant exclamation. It was nothing, perhaps yet Bertha had heard it, and she thought she surprised a sudden suspicion on the doctor's part; and this now disturbed her, for she thought that it might be the subject of the consultation.
But alas! one evening on returning from the hunt, Sauvresy became so ill that he was forced to take to his bed. A doctor was called; inflammation of the chest had set in. Sauvresy was young, vigorous as an oak; his state did not at first cause anxiety. A fortnight afterward, in fact, he was up and about. But he was imprudent and had a relapse.
He thought that he would thus secure his peace until the wedding-day; once married, he cared not what would happen. What cared he for Sauvresy? Life is only a succession of broken friendships. What is a friend, after all? One who can and ought to serve you. Ability consists in breaking with people, when they cease to be useful to you. Bertha reflected. "Hear me, Hector," said she at last.
"Yes, Monsieur Lecoq," said he severely. "Yes, Laurence. Sauvresy did a detestable thing when he thought of making this poor girl the accomplice, or I should say, the instrument of his wrath. He piteously threw her between these two wretches, without asking himself whether she would be broken. It was by using Laurence's name that he persuaded Bertha not to kill herself.
Sauvresy did not know what to say; he was embarrassed by the logic of this daughter of the people, judging her lover rudely, but justly. "Ah, I know him, I do," continued Jenny, growing more excited as her mind reverted to the past. "He has only deceived me once the morning he came and told me he was going to kill himself. I was stupid enough to think him dead, and to cry about it.
Sauvresy had often mentioned it, and she had seen it often in the papers, and had heard it in the drawing-rooms of all her friends. He who bore it seemed to her, after what she had heard a great personage. He was, according to his reputation, a hero of another age, a social Don Quixote, a terribly fast man of the world.
You triumph; my tombstone shall be, as you hoped, the altar of your nuptials, or else the galleys." Tremorel's pride at last revolted against so many humiliations, so many whip-strokes lashing his face. "You have only forgotten one thing, Sauvresy; that a man can die." "Pardon me," replied the sick man, coldly. "I have foreseen that also, and was just going to tell you so.
"The whole case lies there," said he. "Whether these proofs have or have not been destroyed." M. Plantat did not choose to answer directly. "Do you know," asked he, "to whom Sauvresy confided them for keeping?" "Ah," cried the detective, as if a sudden idea had enlightened him, "it was you." He added to himself, "Now, my good man, I begin to see where all your information comes from."
"Yes; they must have had, together, more than a hundred thousand francs income oh, yes, much more; for within five or six months the count, who had not the bucolic tastes of poor Sauvresy, sold some lands to buy consols." "Have they been married long?" M. Courtois scratched his head; it was his appeal to memory. "Faith," he answered, "it was in September of last year; just six months ago.
Hector made a gesture of anger, but did not take the pistol. "You see," said Sauvresy, "I knew it well. You are afraid." Turning to Bertha, he added, "This is your lover." Extraordinary situations like this are so unwonted and strange that the actors in them almost always remain composed and natural, as if stupefied.
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