micide; this truth the
newspapers tell us, by examples, every month; but are wonderfully little
heeded, because newspapers do not, nor is it their business to, analyze
and dwell upon the internal feelings of the despairing lover, whose mad
and bloody act they record. With such a tempest in his heart did Camille
one day wander into the park. And soon an irresistible attraction drew
him to the side of the stream that flowed along one side of it. He eyed
it gloomily, and wherever the stagnant water indicated a deeper pool
than usual he stopped, and looked, and thought, "How calm and peaceful
you are!"

He sat down at last by the water-side, his eyes bent on a calm, green
pool.

It looked very peaceful; and it could give peace. He thought, oh! what
a blessing; to be quit of rage, jealousy, despair, and life, all in a
minute!

Yet that was a sordid death for a soldier to die, who had seen great
battles. Could he not die more nobly than that? With this he suddenly
felt in his pocket; and there sure enough fate had placed his pistols.
He had put them into this coat; and he had not worn this coat until
to-day. He had armed himself unconsciously. "Ah!" said he; "it is to be;
all these things are preordained." (This notion of fate has strengthened
many a fatal resolution.) Then he had a cruel regret. To die without a
word; a parting word. Then he thought to himself, it was best so; for
perhaps he should have taken her with him.

"Sir! colonel!" uttered a solemn voice behind him.

Absorbed and strung up to desperation as he was, this voice seemed
unnaturally loud, and discordant with Camille's mood; a sudden trumpet
from the world of small things.

It was Picard, the notary.

"Can you tell me where Madame Raynal is?"

"No. At the chateau, I suppose."

"She is not there; I inquired of the servant. She was out. You have not
seen her, colonel?"

"Not I; I never see her."

"Then perhaps I had better go back to the chateau and wait for her:
stay, are you a friend of the family? Colonel, suppose I were to tell
you, and ask you to break it to Madame Raynal, or, better still, to the
baroness, or Mademoiselle Rose."

"Monsieur," said Camille coldly, "charge me with no messages, for I
cannot deliver them. I AM GOING ANOTHER WAY."

"In that case, I will go to the chateau once more; for what I have to
say must be heard."

Picard returned to the chateau wondering at the colonel's strange
manner.

Camille, for his part, wo