e hillock. This was the moment when the ghost of Madame
Lescande had risen before him, and he believed he could almost hear her
weep. Suddenly this illusion gave place to a strange reality. The voice
of a woman plainly called him by name, in accents of distress--"Monsieur
de Camors!"

Stopping his horse on the instant, he felt an icy shudder pass
through his frame. The same voice rose higher and called him again. He
recognized it as the voice of Madame de Tecle. Looking around him in the
obscure light with a rapid glance, he saw a light shining through the
foliage in the direction of the cottage of the sabot-maker. Guided
by this, he put spurs to his horse, crossed the cleared 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, a