condolences of such a
one could assuage the affliction under which--"

"Impossible!" answered the man in a quick, eager manner. "M. Norbert was
with his father at the time of his seizure, and has given strict orders
that he is not to be disturbed on any account; but I must go to him at
once, for we are expecting the physicians who are coming from Poitiers."

"Very well, then I will go now, but to-night I will send up one of my
people for news."

With these words, M. de Puymandour walked slowly away, absorbed in
thought. The manner and expression of the servant had struck him as
extremely strange. He noted the fact that Norbert was alone with his
father at the time of the seizure, and, recalling to mind the opposition
he had met with from his daughter, he began to imagine that the Duke had
found his son rebellious, and that the apoplectic fit had been brought
on by a sudden access of passion. Interest and ambition working together
brought him singularly near the truth.

"If the Duke dies, or becomes a maniac," thought he to himself, "the end
as regards us will be the same for Norbert will break off the match to a
certainty."

He felt that such a proceeding would cause him to be more jeered at and
ridiculed than ever, and that the only path of escape left open to him
was to marry his daughter to the Marquis de Croisenois, which was a
most desirable alliance, in spite of all he had said against it. A
voice close to his ear aroused him from his reflections: it was that of
Daumon, who had come up unperceived.

"Was the girl's information correct, Count?" asked he. "How are the Duke
and M. Norbert, for of course you have seen them both?"

"M. Norbert is too much agitated by the sad event to see any one."

"Of course that was to be looked for," returned the wily Counsellor;
"for the seizure was terribly sudden."

M. de Puymandour was too much occupied with his own thoughts to spare
much pity for Norbert. He would have given a great deal to have known
what the young man was doing, and especially what he was thinking of at
the present moment.

The poor lad was standing by the bedside of his dying father, watching
eagerly for some indication, however slight, of returning life or
reason. The hours of horror and self-reproach had entirely changed
his feelings and ideas; for it was only at the instant when he saw his
father raise the poisoned wine to his lips that he saw his crime in all
its hideous enormity. His soul ro