With startling energy, the priest seized her hands, and fixing his eyes wildly on her, exclaimed,
"Lady, who are you? speak, I conjure you, while I have reason left to comprehend!"
"I am the wife of Mons. de la Tour," she answered, terrified by his strange conduct, and vainly striving to free herself from his grasp.
"The wife of Mons. de la Tour!" he repeated; "no, no, you are not;—you would deceive me," he added, vehemently; "but you cannot; those features ever, ever haunt me!"
"For whom do you mistake me?" asked Madame de la Tour, with recovered self-possession, but still deadly pale.
"Mistake you!" he answered, with a shudder; "no, I know you well—I thought you would return to me! you are"—he lowered his voice, almost to a whisper, and spoke with calm emphasis, "you are Luciè Villiers!"
"My God!" exclaimed Mad. de la Tour, "who are you? No," she quickly added, "I am not Luciè Villiers, but I am the sister of that most injured and unhappy lady."
"Her sister!" said the priest, striking his hand upon his forehead, with a perplexed air; "I thought it was she herself;—yet, no, that could not be. Her sister!" he repeated, wildly; "and do you not know me? not know the wretched, miserable De Courcy?"
A piercing cry from Madame de la Tour followed these words, and attracted the attention of Jacques, who was standing before his cottage door. He flew to assist his lady, but, before he reached her, she had sunk, senseless, on the ground, and father Gilbert was standing over her, with clasped hands, and a countenance fixed and vacant, as if deserted by reason. Jacques scarcely heeded him, in his concern for Mad. de la Tour; he raised her gently in his arms, and hastened back to the cottage, to place her under the care of Annette; when he returned, soon after, to look for the priest, he had disappeared, and no traces of him were found in the fort or neighborhood.