Oh, uncle--oh!--am I? Am I _mad_?'

'I hope not; but you'll conduct yourself like a sane person if you wish to
enjoy the privileges of one.'

Then, with his finger pointing at me, he turned to Madame, and said, in a
tone of suppressed ferocity--

'What's the meaning of this?--why is she here?'

Madame was gabbling volubly, but to me it was only a shrilly noise. My
whole soul was concentrated in my uncle, the arbiter of my life, before
whom I stood in the wildest agony of supplication.

That night was dreadful. The people I saw dizzily, made of smoke or shining
vapour, smiling or frowning, I could have passed my hand through them. They
were evil spirits.

'There's no ill intended you; by ---- there's none,' said my uncle, for
the first time violently agitated. 'Madame told you why we've changed your
room. You told her about the bailiffs, did not you? 'with a stamp of fury
he demanded of Madame, whose nasal roullades of talk were running on like a
accompaniment all the time. She had told me indeed only a few hours since,
and now it sounded to me like the echo of something heard a month ago or
more.

'You can't go about the house, d--n it, with bailiffs in occupation. There
now--there's the whole thing. Get to your room, Maud, and don't vex me.
There's a good girl.'

He was trying to smile as he spoke these last words, and, with quavering
soft tones, to quiet me; but the old scowl was there, the smile was
corpse-like and contorted, and the softness of his tones was more dreadful
than another man's ferocity.

'There, Madame, she'll go quite gently, and you can call if you want help.
Don't let it happen again.'

'Come, Maud,' said Madame, encircling but not hurting my arm with her grip;
'let us go, my friend.'

I did go, you will wonder, as well you may--as you may wonder at the
docility with which strong men walk through the press-room to the drop,
and thank the people of the prison for their civility when they bid them
good-bye, and facilitate the fixing of the rope and adjusting of the cap.
Have you never wondered that they don't make a last battle for life with
the unscrupulous energy of terror, instead of surrendering it so gently in
cold blood, on a silent calculation, the arithmetic of despair?

I went upstairs with Madame like a somnambulist. I rather quickened my
step as I drew near my room. I went in, and stood a phantom at the window,
looking into the dark quadrange. A thin glimmering crescent hung i