tor
of the body. This is why we have come here. For my part, I am rather
inclined to think it is the nerves. In any case it is very sad."

Immediately the remembrance of the violent spasmodic movement of his
hand came back to my mind, and I asked him:

"But is this not the result of heredity? Are not your own nerves
somewhat affected?"

He replied calmly:

"Mine? Oh, no-my nerves have always been very steady."

Then, suddenly, after a pause, he went on:

"Ah! You were alluding to the jerking movement of my hand every time I
try to reach for anything? This arises from a terrible experience which
I had. Just imagine, this daughter of mine was actually buried alive!"

I could only utter, "Ah!" so great were my astonishment and emotion.

He continued:

"Here is the story. It is simple. Juliette had been subject for some
time to serious attacks of the heart. We believed that she had disease
of that organ, and were prepared for the worst.

"One day she was carried into the house cold, lifeless, dead. She had
fallen down unconscious in the garden. The doctor certified that life
was extinct. I watched by her side for a day and two nights. I laid her
with my own hands in the coffin, which I accompanied to the cemetery,
where she was deposited in the family vault. It is situated in the very
heart of Lorraine.

"I wished to have her interred with her jewels, bracelets, necklaces,
rings, all presents which she had received from me, and wearing her
first ball dress.

"You may easily imagine my state of mind when I re-entered our home.
She was the only one I had, for my wife had been dead for many years. I
found my way to my own apartment in a half-distracted condition, utterly
exhausted, and sank into my easy-chair, without the capacity to think
or the strength to move. I was nothing better now than a suffering,
vibrating machine, a human being who had, as it were, been flayed alive;
my soul was like an open wound.

"My old valet, Prosper, who had assisted me in placing Juliette in her
coffin, and aided me in preparing her for her last sleep, entered the
room noiselessly, and asked:

"'Does monsieur want anything?'

"I merely shook my head in reply.

"'Monsieur is wrong,' he urged. 'He will injure his health. Would
monsieur like me to put him to bed?'

"I answered: 'No, let me alone!'

"And he left the room.

"I know not how many hours slipped away. Oh, what a night, what a night!
It was cold. My fire had d