n the hunt; but it gave me but little pleasure. Finding
myself near Gazeau Tower, where I lived for some twenty years, I felt an
inclination to see my old cell again, and I was bearing down upon it at
a great pace when I heard a shot. That did not frighten me in the least;
it seemed but natural that there should be some gun fired during a
battue. But when I got through the thicket, that is to day, some two
minutes later, I found Edmee--excuse me, I generally call her by this
name; I am, so to speak, a sort of foster-father to her--I found Edmee
on her knees upon the ground, wounded as you have been told, and still
holding the bridle of her horse, which was rearing. She did not know
whether she was seriously or slightly wounded, but she had her other
hand on her breast, and she was saying:

"'Bernard, this is hideous! I should never have thought that you would
kill me. Bernard, where are you? Come and see me die. This will kill
father!'

"As she said this she let go the horse's bridle and fell to the ground.
I rushed towards her.

"'Ah, you saw it, Patience?' she said. 'Do not speak about it; do not
tell my father . . .'

"She threw out her arms, and her body became rigid. I thought that she
was dead. She spoke no more until night, after they had extracted the
bullets from her breast."

"Did you then see Bernard de Mauprat?"

"I saw him on the spot where the deed was done, just as Edmee lost
consciousness and seemed to be giving up her soul; he seemed to be out
of his mind. I thought that he was overwhelmed with remorse. I spoke to
him sternly, and treated him as a murderer. He made no reply, but sat
down on the ground by his cousin's side. He remained there in a dazed
condition, even a long time after they had taken her away. No one
thought of accusing him. The people thought that he had had a fall,
because they saw his horse trotting by the side of the pond; they
believed that his carbine had gone off as he fell. The Abbe Aubert
was the only one who heard me accuse M. Bernard of having murdered his
cousin. During the days that followed, Edmee spoke occasionally, but
it was not always in my presence; besides, at this time she was nearly
always delirious. I maintain that she told nobody (and least of all
Mademoiselle Leblanc) what had passed between herself and M. de Mauprat
before the gun was fired. Nor did she confide this to me any more than
others. On the rare occasions when she was in possession of her senses