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Maupassant's Short Stories Vol. 4

The Marquis De Fumerol
Roger de Tourneville was whiffing a cigar and blowing out small clouds of smoke every
now and then, as he sat astride a chair amid a party of friends. He was talking.
"We were at dinner when a letter was brought in which my father opened. You know my
father, who thinks that he is king of France ad interim. I call him Don Quixote, because
for twelve years he has been running a tilt against the windmill of the Republic, without
quite knowing whether it was in the cause of the Bourbons or the Orleanists. At present
he is bearing the lance in the cause of the Orleanists alone, because there is no one else
left. In any case, he thinks himself the first gentleman of France, the best known, the most
influential, the head of the party; and as he is an irremovable senator, he thinks that the
thrones of the neighboring kings are very insecure.
"As for my mother, she is my father's soul, she is the soul of the kingdom and of religion,
and the scourge of all evil-thinkers.
"Well, a letter was 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
"'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.'