"My God! thou callest me
to thyself in time! My poor children! what will become of them?"
She made a fervent prayer, which brought the fires of repentance to
her eyes.
"Marguerite," she resumed, drawing the letter from her pillow, "here
is a paper which you must not open or read until a time, after my
death, when some great disaster has overtaken you; when, in short, you
are without the means of living. My dear Marguerite, love your father,
but take care of your brothers and your sister. In a few days, in a
few hours perhaps, you will be the head of this household. Be
economical. Should you find yourself opposed to the wishes of your
father,--and it may so happen, because he has spent vast sums in
searching for a secret whose discovery is to bring glory and wealth to
his family, and he will no doubt need money, perhaps he may demand it
of you,--should that time come, treat him with the tenderness of a
daughter, strive to reconcile the interests of which you will be the
sole protector with the duty which you owe to a father, to a great man
who sacrificed his happiness and his life to the glory of his family;
he can only do wrong in act, his intentions are noble, his heart is
full of love; you will see him once more kind and affectionate--YOU!
Marguerite, it is my duty to say these words to you on the borders of
the grave. If you wish to soften the anguish of my death, promise me,
my child, to take my place beside your father; to cause him no grief;
never to reproach him; never to condemn him.
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