was not until the spring of 1890 that the peace of the colony was
broken. It was a sorrowful tragedy. Jean d'Yriex, the youngest and
merriest devil of all the jolly crew, became suddenly moody and morose.
At first this was attributed to his undisguised admiration for Mlle.
Heloise, and was looked on as one of the vagaries of boyish passion; but
one day, while riding with M. de Bergerac, he suddenly seized the
bridle of Julien's horse, wrenched it from his hand, and, turning his
own horse's head towards the cliffs, lashed the terrified animals into a
gallop straight towards the brink. He was only thwarted in his mad
object by Julien, who with a quick blow sent him headlong in the dry
grass, and reined in the terrified animals hardly a yard from the
cliffs. When this happened, and no word of explanation was granted, only
a sullen silence that lasted for days, it became clear that poor Jean's
brain was wrong in some way. Heloise devoted herself to him with
infinite patience,--though she felt no special affection for him, only
pity,--and while he was with her he seemed sane and quiet. But at night
some strange mania took possession of him. If he had worked on his Prix
de Rome picture in the daytime, while Heloise sat by him, reading aloud
or singing a little, no matter how good the work, it would have vanished
in the morning, and he would again begin, only to erase his labor during
the night.

At last his growing insanity reached its climax; and one day in Notre
Dame, when he had painted better than usual, he suddenly stopped,
seized a palette knife, and slashed the great canvas in strips. Heloise
sprang forward to stop him, and in crazy fury he turned on her, striking
at her throat with the palette knife. The thin steel snapped, and the
white throat showed only a scarlet scratch. Heloise, without that
ordinary terror that would crush most women, grasped the thin wrists of
the madman, and, though he could easily have wrenched his hands away,
d'Yriex sank on his knees in a passion of tears. He shut himself in his
room at Pontivy, refusing to see any one, walking for hours up and down,
fighting against growing madness. Soon Dr. Charpentier came from Paris,
summoned by Mme. de Bergerac; and after one short, forced interview,
left at once for Paris, taking M. d'Yriex with him.

A few days later came a letter for Mme. de Bergerac, in which Dr.
Charpentier confessed that Jean had disappeared, that he had allowed him
too much lib