rtha, the youngest child, began to
lose her fine color and faded so rapidly that her parents became
alarmed. They passed long nights at the bedside of the little sufferer,
who seemed to be a victim of a sort of nervous debility or exhaustion.
One night the Marquise volunteered to watch while her husband slept,
and, in administering some medicine to her child, mistook the vial and
poisoned her. Martha died and it was impossible to conceal the cause of
her death from the grief-stricken mother. Her despair was even more
poignant than that of her husband for with hers was mingled a frightful
remorse which all the tenderness of the Marquis could not assuage. This
despair caused an attack of fever from which she recovered, but which
left her in a still more pitiable condition. A profound calm had
succeeded the paroxysms of fever; and her sorrow no longer betrayed
itself in sobs and lamentations, but only in silent tears and
heart-breaking sighs. These alarming symptoms soon revealed the truth:
reason had fled. For hours at a time poor Edmee rocked to and fro, with
a bundle of rags clasped tightly to her breast, crooning over it the
same lullaby she had been wont to sing over her sleeping child.

Physicians summoned from Avignon, Nimes and Montpellier tried in vain to
overcome this deep despondency, which was far more dangerous than
frenzy. Their skill was powerless; they could not give the Marquis even
the slightest ray of hope. It was not long before the Marquise became
frightfully pale and emaciated, while her mind was more than ever under
the control of the monomania which saw her daughter in all the objects
that surrounded her. She took, by turns, flowers, articles of clothing
and of furniture, lavishing every mark of affection upon them and
calling them by the most endearing names until their insensibility
dispelled the illusion and she cast them aside with loathing to seek
elsewhere the child for which she mourned.

These afflictions, the rapidity with which they had followed one another
and their magnitude impaired the health of the Marquis. He fell ill in
his turn, and for more than a month Coursegol thought the shadow of
death was hovering over his master. But the Marquis was young and
strong; and the thought that if he succumbed his son would be left an
orphan produced a salutary reaction. He was soon on his feet again, and,
though he was always sad, he accepted his misfortunes bravely and
resolved to live for his