esently returned.

"To-morrow," said she, "the answer--here."

With what anxious impatience did I look forward to her reply, and with
what despairing feelings did it fill me when I received it! In it
Natalie spoke of her approaching death as of an event of the
occurrence of which she was thoroughly persuaded, and besought me to
give up all hopes of again seeing her.

At this period of the year the nuns of the Ursuline convent inhabited
their summer cells, which were a row of buildings situated in the
convent garden. Natalie had the last cell, which was separated by
several empty ones from those of the other sisters. It was on the
second day after I received her letter that the nuns were surprised by
her not opening her door at the usual hour. They waited some time for
her appearance, but in vain. They knocked; there was no answer. At
last the door was forced open and Natalie was found lying dead upon
the floor of the cell. She had evidently been dragged out of bed with
great violence; her features were distorted with pain and struggling,
and in her left breast was a wound which had been the cause of her
death. The murderer had broken in through the roof of the cell.

The news of this horrible occurrence flew with lightning swiftness
through the neighbourhood and to Warsaw. Nobody doubted that there was
some connexion between the crime and the singular occurrence at the
ball, although it was impossible to say what that connexion was. Every
attempt to discover and apprehend the murderer proved unavailing.

In order to see Natalie for the last time, I repaired to the convent
church, in which, according to custom, her corpse was laid out. With
faltering and uncertain steps I passed through the aisle, and reached
the chapel where the remains of her I had so fondly loved were lying.
I stepped up to the bier, but the next instant turned away my face. I
lacked courage to look upon the cold corpse of my adored mistress. A
violent dizziness seized me, the pillars around me seemed to turn and
twist about, and the roof of the church to shake. I sank senseless
upon a chair.

How long I may have remained in that state I am unable to say. It was
night when consciousness returned, and the moon was shedding its cold,
clear light through the high Gothic windows. I felt heated and
excited; all manner of strange fancies passed through my head, the
predominant one being to go at once and wander about the world, till I
should discover