his room--no obstacles in the way, nothing that could frighten
a horse, yet at that moment my pony gave a bound which shook me from my
seat, then he reared violently, and threw me off; my uncle laughed, but
my father became as pale as death. I did not move, and my father leaped
from his horse and came to me, and found that my leg was broken.

"To describe my father's grief and the cries of the grooms would be
impossible; but my uncle's despair was indescribable--kneeling by my
side, removing my clothes with a trembling hand, covering me with tears
and caresses, his every word was a fervent prayer. My father was obliged
to console him, but to all his consolations and caresses he answered
not.

"They sent for the first surgeon at Nantes, who pronounced me in great
danger. My uncle begged my mother's pardon all day long; and we remarked
that, during my illness, he had quite changed his mode of life; instead
of drinking and hunting with the officers--instead of going on fishing
expeditions, of which he was so fond--he never left my pillow.

"The fever lasted six weeks, and the illness nearly four months; but I
was saved, and retained no trace of the accident. When I went out for
the first time, my uncle gave me his arm; but when the walk was over,
he took leave of us with tears in his eyes.

"'Where are you going, Crysogon?' asked my father in astonishment.

"'I made a vow,' replied the good man, 'that if our child recovered, I
would turn Carthusian, and I go to fulfill it.'

"This was a new grief. My father and my mother shed tears; I hung on my
uncle's neck, and begged him not to leave us; but the viscount was a man
who never broke a promise or a resolution. Our tears and prayers were
vain.

"'My brother,' said he, 'I did not know that God sometimes deigns to
reveal Himself to man in acts of mystery. I doubted, and deserve to be
punished; besides, I do not wish to lose my salvation in the pleasures
of this life.'

"At these words the viscount embraced me again, mounted his horse, and
disappeared. He went to the Carthusian monastery at Morlaix. Two years
afterward, fasts, macerations, and grief had made of this bon vivant,
this joyous companion, this devoted friend, a premature skeleton. At the
end of three years he died, leaving me all his wealth."

"Diable! what a frightful tale," said Du Couedic; "but the old woman
forgot to tell you that breaking your leg would double your fortune."

"Listen," said Pontcalec