a, and was speaking to her with great
animation.

Blanche hastened toward them.

"Ah! Mademoiselle," exclaimed the servant, "we have been seeking you
everywhere for three hours. Your father, monsieur le marquis--_mon
Dieu_! what a misfortune! A physician has been summoned."

"Is my father dead?"

"No, Mademoiselle, no; but--how can I tell you? When the marquis went
out this morning his actions were very strange, and--and--when he
returned----"

As he spoke the servant tapped his forehead with the end of his
forefinger.

"You understand me, Mademoiselle--when he returned, reason had fled!"

Without waiting for her terrified aunt, Blanche darted in the direction
of the chateau.

"How is the marquis?" she inquired of the first servant whom she met.

"He is in his room on the bed; he is more quiet now."

She had already reached his room. He was seated upon the bed, and two
servants were watching his every movement. His face was livid, and
a white foam had gathered upon his lips. Still, he recognized his
daughter.

"Here you are," said he. "I was waiting for you."

She remained upon the threshold, quite overcome, although she was
neither tender-hearted nor impressionable.

"My father!" she faltered. "Good heavens! what has happened?"

He uttered a discordant laugh.

"Ah, ha!" he exclaimed, "I met him. Do you doubt me? I tell you that I
saw the wretch. I know him well; have I not seen his cursed face before
my eyes for more than a month--for it never leaves me. I saw him. It was
in the forest near the Sanguille rocks. You know the place; it is always
dark there, on account of the trees. I was returning slowly, thinking of
him, when suddenly he sprang up before me, extending his arms as if to
bar my passage.

"'Come,' said he, 'you must come and join me.' He was armed with a gun;
he fired----"

The marquis paused, and Blanche summoned sufficient courage to approach
him. For more than a minute she fastened upon him that cold and
persistent look that is said to exercise such power over those who have
lost their reason; then, shaking him energetically by the arm, she said,
almost roughly:

"Control yourself, father. You are the victim of an hallucination. It is
impossible that you have seen the man of whom you speak."

Who it was that M. de Courtornieu supposed he had seen, Blanche knew
only too well; but she dared not, could not, utter the name.

But the marquis had resumed his incoherent narrative.