Bewildered and overwhelmed, he felt his knees crook beneath him: he was frightened.
Not knowing to what errand to ascribe this night roaming, he watched her: but his reason was confounded, and his blood beat with impetuosity in his temples, being nearer folly than the coolness which a good observer ought to possess. He viewed her as he had always done since this fatal passion had entered his heart.
All of a sudden he thought the mystery was revealed: Andrea was not wandering out of her mind, but going to keep an appointment, albeit her step was slow and sepulchral.
A lightning flash illumined the sky. By its bluish glare Gilbert caught sight of a man, hiding in the linden walk, with pale visage and clothes in disorder. He stretched out one hand towards the girl as though to beckon her to him.
Something like pincers nipped Gilbert’s heart and he half rose to see the better.
Another lightning stroke streaked the sky.
He recognized Baron Balsamo, covered with dust, who had by the aid of mysterious intelligence, entered the locked-up Trianon, and was as invincibly and fatally drawing Andrea to him as a snake may a bird. Not till within two steps of him did she stop, when he took her hand and she quivered all over her body.
“Do you see?” he asked.
“Yes,” was her reply, “but you have nearly been the death of me in bringing me out like this.”
“It cannot be helped,” returned Balsamo: “I am in a whirl, and am ready to die with the craze upon me.”