"
"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. My
brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in error, that
will content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapor that
passeth away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in
a fair way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself
to make a very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies to
him; the trumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he rides
into town before his company; he receives many assurances of trust and
regard--sometimes by express in a letter--sometimes face to face, with
persons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderful
if his head is turned for a time. But once he is dead, were he as
brave as Hercules[9] or as wise as Solomon[10], he is soon forgotten.
It is not ten years since my father fell, with many other knights
around him, in a very fierce encounter, and I do not think that any
one of them, nor so much as the name of the fight, is now remembered.
No, no, madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark
and dusty corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut
after him till the judgment day. I have few friends just now, and once
I am dead I shall have none."
"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget Blanche de
Maletroit."
"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased to estimate a
little service far beyond its worth.
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