and, which had been hanging down outside of the covers. Barbara, all
trembling with age and anxiety, was busying herself about the room,
opening and shutting drawers, and emptying powders into glasses. On
seeing me open my eyes, the old woman uttered a cry of joy, the dog
yelped and wagged his tail, but I was still so weak that I could not
speak a single word or make the slightest motion. Afterward I learned
that I had lain thus for three days, giving no evidence of life beyond
the faintest respiration. Those three days do not reckon in my life, nor
could I ever imagine whither my spirit had departed during those three
days; I have no recollection of aught relating to them. Barbara told me
that the same coppery-complexioned man who came to seek me on the night
of my departure from the presbytery had brought me back the next morning
in a close litter, and departed immediately afterward. When I became
able to collect my scattered thoughts, I reviewed within my mind all the
circumstances of that fateful night. At first I thought I had been the
victim of some magical illusion, but ere long the recollection of other
circumstances, real and palpable in themselves, came to forbid that
supposition. I could not believe that I had been dreaming, since Barbara
as well as myself had seen the strange man with his two black horses,
and described with exactness every detail of his figure and apparel.
Nevertheless it appeared that none knew of any castle in the
neighbourhood answering to the description of that in which I had again
found Clarimonde.

One morning I found the Abbe Serapion in my room. Barbara had advised
him that I was ill, and he had come with all speed to see me. Although
this haste on his part testified to an affectionate interest in me, yet
his visit did not cause me the pleasure which it should have done. The
Abbe Serapion had something penetrating and inquisitorial in his
gaze which made me feel very ill at ease. His presence filled me with
embarrassment and a sense of guilt. At the first glance he divined my
interior trouble, and I hated him for his clairvoyance.

While he inquired after my health in hypocritically honeyed accents,
he constantly kept his two great yellow lion-eyes fixed upon me, and
plunged his look into my soul like a sounding-lead. Then he asked me
how I directed my parish, if I was happy in it, how I passed the leisure
hours allowed me in the intervals of pastoral duty, whether I had
become ac