"My boys," said he, indicating the two young men, "zey are dead; no
one of ze old Bourgueil-Crotanoy is left except me--and I, as you see,
am half dead. Perhaps I was too proud; my confessor tell me so,
always. I was--I am still--proud of my race, of my chateau. I was not
permitted to serve Republican France, but I gave her my boys. They
went to Tonquin; I remained at home, thinking of ze day when zey would
return, and marry, and give me handsome grandchildren. Zey did--not--
return. Zey died. One in battle, one of fever in ze hospital. What was
left for me, _mes amis_? Could I live on in ze place where I had
seen my children and my children's children? No. Could I meet in Paris
ze pitying eyes of friends?"
* * * * *
Years afterwards, Ajax and I found ourselves in Morbihan. We paid a
pilgrimage to the Chateau de Bourgueil-Crotanoy, and entered the
chapel where the last of the Bourgueil-Crotanoy is buried. A mural
tablet records the names, and the manner of death, of the two sons.
Also a line in Latin:
"'Tis better to die young than to live on to behold the misfortunes
and emptiness of an ancient house.
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