e terrible
consequences of his own words, but yielding to the inexorable fatality
of his situation, "sometimes madness takes a stupid and brutal form; the
unfortunate creature, who is attacked by it, preserves nothing human
but the shape--has only the instincts of the lower animals--eats with
voracity, and moves ever backwards and forwards in the cell, in which
such a being is obliged to be confined. That is all its life--all."

"Like the woman yonder." cried Adrienne, with a still wilder look, as
she slowly raised her arm towards the window that was visible on the
other side of the building.

"Why--yes," said M. Baleinier. "Like you, unhappy child, those women
were young, fair, and sensible, but like you, alas! they had in them the
fatal germ of insanity, which, not having been destroyed in time, grew,
and grew, larger and ever larger, until it overspread and destroyed
their reason."

"Oh, mercy!" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, whose head was getting confused
with terror; "mercy! do not tell me such things!--I am afraid. Take
me from this place--oh! take me from this place!" she added, with a
heartrending accent; "for, if I remain here, I shall end by going mad!
No," added she, struggling with the terrible agony which assailed her,
"no, do not hope it! I shall not become mad. I have all my reason. I
am not blind enough to believe what you tell me. Doubtless, I live
differently from others; think differently from others; am shocked by
things that do not offend others; but what does all this prove? Only
that I am different from others. Have I a bad heart? Am I envious or
selfish? My ideas are singular, I knew--yes, I confess it--but then,
M. Baleinier, is not their tendency good, generous, noble!--Oh!" cried
Adrienne's supplicating voice, while her tears flowed abundantly, "I
have never in my life done one malicious action; my worst errors have
arisen from excess of generosity. Is it madness to wish to see everybody
about one too happy? And again, if you are mad, you must feel it
yourself--and I do not feel it--and yet--I scarcely know--you tell me
such terrible things of those two women! You ought to know these things
better than I. But then," added Mdlle, de Cardoville, with an accent
of the deepest despair, "something ought to have been done. Why, if you
felt an interest for me, did you wait so long? Why did you not take pity
on me sooner? But the most frightful fact is, that I do not know whether
I ought to believe y