ess on the deck. Soon all disappeared together.

A fearful mass of water dashed the "Black Eagle" down upon the "William
Tell," in the midst of a cloud of boiling foam. To the dreadful crash
of the two great bodies of wood and iron, which splintering against one
another, instantly foundered, one loud cry was added--a cry of agony and
death--the cry of a hundred human creatures swallowed up at once by the
waves!

And then--nothing more was visible!

A few moments after, the fragments of the two vessels appeared in the
trough of the sea, and on the caps of the waves--with here and there
the contracted arms, the livid and despairing faces of some unhappy
wretches, striving to make their way to the reefs along the shore, at
the risk of being crushed to death by the shock of the furious breakers.

CHAPTER XXV. THE SHIPWRECK.

While the bailiff was gone to the sea-shore, to render help to those of
the passengers who might escape from the inevitable shipwreck, M.
Rodin, conducted by Catherine to the Green Chamber, had there found the
articles that he was to take with him to Paris.

After passing two hours in this apartment, very indifferent to the fate
of the shipwrecked persons, which alone absorbed the attention of
the inhabitants of the Castle, Rodin returned to the chamber commonly
occupied by the bailiff, a room which opened upon a long gallery. When
he entered it he found nobody there. Under his arm he held a casket,
with silver fastenings, almost black from age, whilst one end of a
large red morocco portfolio projected from the breast-pocket of his half
buttoned great coat.

Had the cold and livid countenance of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's secretary
been able to express joy otherwise than by a sarcastic smile, his
features would have been radiant with delight; for, just then, he was
under the influence of the most agreeable thoughts. Having placed
the casket upon a table, it was with marked satisfaction that he thus
communed with himself:

"All goes well. It was prudent to keep these papers here till this
moment, for one must always be on guard against the diabolical spirit of
that Adrienne de Cardoville, who appears to guess instinctively what it
is impossible she should know. Fortunately, the time approaches when we
shall have no more need to fear her. Her fate will be a cruel one; it
must be so. Those proud, independent characters are at all times our
natural enemies--they are so by their very essence--how m