hedge, I met a peasant whom I recognised. All at
once it seemed as if a veil spread over my sight, all my hopes and joy
suddenly vanished, a funereal idea took possession of me, and I said,
taking the hand of the man, who had not yet spoken--

"'My mother is dead, I am convinced my mother is dead!'

"He hung down his head and answered--

"'She is to be buried this morning!'

"Now whence came this revelation? I had seen no one, spoken to no one; a
moment before I had no idea of it!"

Derues made a gesture of surprise. Monsieur de Lamotte put his hand to
his eyes, and said to the cure--

"Your presentiments were true; mine, happily, are unfounded. But listen,
and tell me if in the state of anxiety which oppressed me I had not good
reason for alarm and for fearing some fatal misfortune."

His eyes again sought Derues. "Towards the middle of last night I at
length fell asleep, but, interrupted every moment, this sleep was more
a fatigue than a rest; I seemed to hear confused noises all round me. I
saw brilliant lights which dazzled me, and then sank back into silence
and darkness. Sometimes I heard someone weeping near my bed; again
plaintive voices called to me out of the darkness. I stretched out my
arms, but nothing met them, I fought with phantoms; at length a cold
hand grasped mine and led me rapidly forward. Under a dark and damp
vault a woman lay on the ground, bleeding, inanimate--it was my wife! At
the same moment, a groan made me look round, and I beheld a man
striking my son with a dagger. I cried out and awoke, bathed in cold
perspiration, panting under this terrible vision. I was obliged to get
up, walk about, and speak aloud, in order to convince myself it was
only a dream. I tried to go to sleep again, but the same visions still
pursued me. I saw always the same man armed with two daggers streaming
with blood; I heard always the cries of his two victims. When day came,
I felt utterly broken, worn-out; and this morning, you, my father, could
see by my despondency what an impression this awful night had made upon
me."

During this recital Derues' calmness never gave way for a single
moment, and the most skilful physiognomist could only have discovered an
expression of incredulous curiosity on his countenance.

"Monsieur le cure's story," said he, "impressed me much; yours only
brings back my uncertainty. It is less possible than ever to deliver any
opinion on this serious question of dreams, since th