“He is in his room on the bed; he is more quiet now.”
She had already reached his room. He was seated upon the bed, and two servants were watching his every movement. His face was livid, and a white foam had gathered upon his lips. Still, he recognized his daughter.
“Here you are,” said he. “I was waiting for you.”
She remained upon the threshold, quite overcome, although she was neither tender-hearted nor impressionable.
“My father!” she faltered. “Good heavens! what has happened?”
He uttered a discordant laugh.
“Ah, ha!” he exclaimed, “I met him. Do you doubt me? I tell you that I saw the wretch. I know him well; have I not seen his cursed face before my eyes for more than a month—for it never leaves me. I saw him. It was in the forest near the Sanguille rocks. You know the place; it is always dark there, on account of the trees. I was returning slowly, thinking of him, when suddenly he sprang up before me, extending his arms as if to bar my passage.
“‘Come,’ said he, ‘you must come and join me.’ He was armed with a gun; he fired——”
The marquis paused, and Blanche summoned sufficient courage to approach him. For more than a minute she fastened upon him that cold and persistent look that is said to exercise such power over those who have lost their reason; then, shaking him energetically by the arm, she said, almost roughly:
“Control yourself, father. You are the victim of an hallucination. It is impossible that you have seen the man of whom you speak.”