ed--doubted if there was such a thing as
truth. She gave admittance to the fearful suspicion that Madelon, too,
was forsworn, and might have a hand in the bloody deed. And as it is
the nature of the human mind that, when an idea has dawned upon it, it
eagerly seeks, and finds, colours in which to paint that idea more and
more vividly, she, as she weighed and considered all the circumstances
of the crime along with Madelon's behaviour, found a very great deal to
nourish suspicion. Many things which had hitherto been considered
proofs of innocence and purity, now became evidences of studied
hypocrisy and deep, corrupt wickedness. Those heartrending cries of
sorrow, and the bitter tears, might well have been pressed from her by
the deadly dread of her lover's bleeding--nay, of her own falling into
the executioner's hands. With a resolve at once to cast away the
serpent she had been cherishing, Mademoiselle Scuderi alighted
from her carriage. Madelon threw herself at her feet. Her heavenly
eyes--(no Angel of God's has them more truthful)--raised to her, her
hands pressed to her heaving breast, she wept, imploring help and
consolation. Mademoiselle Scuderi, controlling herself with difficulty,
giving to the tone of her voice as much calmness and gravity as
she could, said, "Go! go!--be thankful that the murderer awaits
the just punishment of his crime. May the Holy Virgin grant that
blood-guiltiness does not weigh heavily on your own head also." With a
bitter cry of "Alas! then all is over!" Madelon fell fainting to the
ground. Mademoiselle Scuderi left her to the care of La Martiniere, and
went to another room.

Much distressed, and at variance with all earthly things, she longed to
depart from a world filled with diabolical treachery and falsehood. She
complained of the destiny which had granted her so many years in which
to strengthen her belief in truth and virtue, only to shatter in her
old days the beautiful fancies which had illumined her path.

She heard Madelon, as La Martiniere was leading her away, murmur in
broken accents, "_Her_, too, have the terrible men deceived. Ah!
wretched me!--miserable Olivier!" The tones of the voice went to her
heart, and again there dawned within her the belief in the existence of
some mystery, in Olivier's innocence. Torn by the most contradictory
feelings, she cried, "What spirit of the pit has mixed _me_ up in this
terrible story, which will be my very death!"

At this moment Ba