ed ground up the hillside, and found
himself face to face with Madame de Tecle. She was standing at the
threshold of the hut, her head bare, and her beautiful hair dishevelled
under a long, black lace veil. She was giving a servant some hasty
orders. When she saw Camors approach, she came toward him.

"Pardon me," she said, "but I thought I recognized you, and I called you.
I am so much distressed--so distressed! The two children of this man are
dying! What is to be done? Come in--come in, I beg of you!"

He leaped to the ground, threw the reins to his servant, and followed
Madame de Tekle into the interior of the cabin.

The two children with the golden hair were lying side by side on a little
bed, immovable, rigid, their eyes open and the pupils strangely
dilated--their faces red, and agitated by slight convulsions. They seemed
to be in the agony of death. The old doctor, Du Rocher, was leaning over
them, looking at them with a fixed, anxious, and despairing eye. The
mother was on her knees, her head clasped in her hands, and weeping
bitterly. At the foot of the bed stood the father, with his savage
mien--his arms crossed, and his eyes dry. He shuddered at intervals, and
murmured, in a hoarse, hollow voice: "Both of them! Both of them!" Then
he relapsed into his mournful attitude. M. Durocher, approached Camors
quickly. "Monsieur," said he, "what can this be? I believe it to be
poisoning, but can detect no definite symptoms: otherwise, the parents
should know--but they know nothing! A sunstroke, perhaps; but as both
were struck at the same time--and then at this season--ah! our profession
is quite useless sometimes."

Camors made rapid inquiries. They had sought M. Durocher, who was dining
with Madame de Tecle an hour before. He had hastened, and found the
children already speechless, in a state of fearful congestion. It
appeared they had fallen into this state when first attacked, and had
become delirious.

Camors conceived an idea. He asked to see the clothes the children had
worn during the day. The mother gave them to him. He examined them with
care, and pointed out to the doctor several red stains on the poor rags.
The doctor touched his forehead, and turned over with a feverish hand the
small linen--the rough waistcoat--searched the pockets, and found dozens
of a small fruit-like cherries, half crushed. "Belladonna!" he exclaimed.
"That idea struck me several times, but how could I be sure? You can not
find