brought in while we were at dinner, and my father
opened and read it, and then he said to mother: 'Your brother is dying.'
She grew very pale. My uncle was scarcely ever mentioned in the house,
and I did not know him at all; all I knew from public talk was, that
he had led, and was still leading, a gay life. After having spent his
fortune in fast living, he was now in small apartments in the Rue des
Martyrs.

"An ancient peer of France and former colonel of cavalry, it was said
that he believed in neither God nor devil. Not believing, therefore,
in a future life he had abused the present life in every way, and had
become a live wound in my mother's heart.

"'Give me that letter, Paul,' she said, and when she read it, I asked
for it in my turn. Here it is:

'Monsieur le Comte, I think I ought to let you know that your
brother-in-law, the Comte Fumerol, is going to die. Perhaps you
would like to make some arrangements, and do not forget I told you.
Your servant,
'MELANIE.'

"'We must take counsel,' papa murmured. 'In my position, I ought to
watch over your brother's last moments.'

"Mamma continued: 'I will send for Abbe Poivron and ask his advice, and
then I will go to my brother with the abbe and Roger. Remain here, Paul,
for you must not compromise yourself; but a woman can, and ought to do
these things. For a politician in your position, it is another matter.
It would be a fine thing for one of your opponents to be able to bring
one of your most laudable actions up against you.' 'You are right,' my
father said. 'Do as you think best, my dear wife.'

"A quarter of an hour, later, the Abbe Poivron came into the
drawing-room, and the situation was explained to him, analyzed and
discussed in all its bearings. If the Marquis de Fumerol, one of the
greatest names in France, were to die without the ministrations of
religion, it would assuredly be a terrible blow to the nobility
in general, and to the Count de Tourneville in particular, and the
freethinkers would be triumphant. The liberal newspapers would sing
songs of victory for six months; my mother's name would be dragged
through the mire and brought into the prose of Socialistic journals, and
my father's name would be smirched. It was impossible that such a thing
should be.

"A crusade was therefore immediately decided upon, which was to be led
by the Abbe Poivron, a little, fat, clean, priest with a faint perfume
about him,