lm produced by the mild language of
Gabriel had succeeded a painful agitation, which, mingled with the
reaction of the shocks received that day, began to throw his mind into a
strange state of confusion.

Rodin, having so far succeeded in his object, continued as follows: "A
fatal day came at last. Rancey, obliged to go to the wars, quitted the
girl; but, after a short campaign, he returned, more in love than ever.
He had written privately, to say he would arrive almost immediately after
his letter. He came accordingly. It was night. He ascended, as usual, the
private staircase which led to the chamber of his mistress; he entered
the room, his heart beating with love and hope. His mistress had died
that morning!"

"Ah!" cried Hardy, covering his face with his hands, in terror.

"She was dead," resumed Rodin. "Two wax-candles were burning beside the
funeral couch. Rancey could not, would not believe that she was dead. He
threw himself on his knees by the corpse. In his delirium, he seized that
fair, beloved head, to cover it with kisses. The head parted from the
body, and remained in his hands! Yes," resumed Rodin as Hardy drew back,
pale and mute with terror, "yes, the girl had fallen a victim to so swift
and extraordinary a disease, that she had not been able to receive the
last sacraments. After her death, the doctors, in the hope of discovering
the cause of this unknown malady, had begun to dissect that fair form--"

As Rodin reached this part of his narrative, night was almost come. A
sort of hazy twilight alone reigned in this silent chamber, in the centre
of which appeared the pale and ghastly form of Rodin, clad in his long
black gown, whilst his eyes seemed to sparkle with diabolic fire.
Overcome by the violent emotions occasioned by this story, in which
thoughts of death and voluptuousness, love and horror, were so strangely
mingled, Hardy remained fixed and motionless, waiting for the words of
Rodin, with a combination of curiosity, anguish and alarm.

"And Rancey?" said he, at last, in an agitated voice, whilst he wiped the
cold sweat from his brow.

"After two days of furious delirium," resumed Rodin, "he renounced the
world, and shut himself up in impenetrable solitude. The first period of
his retreat was frightful; in his despair, he uttered loud yells of grief
and rage, that were audible at some distance. Twice he attempted suicide,
to escape from the terrible visions."

"He had visions, then?" sai