"Is it not a collection of your thoughts?" I asked, stretching out my
hand and taking the book down. "If I may, allow me to look at it."
I opened the book, although Brigitte made a gesture as though to prevent
me; on the first page I read these words:
"This is my last will and testament."
Everything was written in a firm hand; I found, first, a faithful recital
of all that Brigitte had suffered on my account since she had been my
mistress. She announced her firm determination to endure everything, so
long as I loved her and to die when I left her. Her daily life was
recorded there; what she had lost, what she had hoped, the isolation she
experienced even in my presence, the barrier that was growing up between
us, the cruelties I subjected her to in return for her love and her
resignation--all that was written down without a complaint; on the
contrary, she undertook to justify me. Then followed personal details,
the disposition of her effects. She would end her life by poison, she
wrote. She would die by her own hand and expressly forbid that her death
should be charged to me. "Pray for him," such were her last words.
I found in the closet, on the same shelf, a little box that I remembered
I had seen before, filled with a fine bluish powder resembling salt.
"What is this?" I asked of Brigitte, raising the box to my lips. She gave
vent to a scream of terror and threw herself upon me.
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