"But you cannot go there my child—it
would be unheard of."

"They will both need me—there is no one
who can fill my place—let me go."

She spoke gently, but resolutely. Madame
Raymond saw that it was no case for
remonstrance. In a few moments Agnes returned
in her walking-dress. She laid her hand on
Madame Tremordyn, and said:

"Let us go home."

The poor mother, looking ten years older
than on the previous day, rose, and leaning
upon Agnes walked feebly to the door.
Madame Raymond supported her on the
other side; she would have gone with them,
but Agnes shook her head and kissed her
silently. Arrived at home Agnes resumed
her old position. She busied herself about
Madame Tremordyn. She made her take
some nourishment, chafed her hands and
feet, and tried to keep some warmth and life
within her; but little speech passed between
them.

The weary hours passed on, and no tidings;
about midnight a strangely sounding footstep
was heard upon the stair. The door of the
room opened, and Achille, with his dress
disordered and torn, and covered with mud,
stood before them. He stopped short at seeing
them, and evidently did not recognise
them. He did not speak. There was a wild
glare in his eye,—he was quite mad.

Madame Tremordyn, in extreme terror,
shrank back in her arm-chair, trying to hide
herself. Agnes placed herself before her;
looking steadily at Achille, she said quietly,

"Make no noise, your mother is ill."

He sat down slowly, and with apparent
reluctance, upon the chair she indicated.
She kept her eye fixed upon him, and he
moved uneasily under its influence. It was
like being with an uncaged wild beast; and,
what was to be the end, she did not know.
At length he rose stealthily and backed
towards the door, which remained open,
The instant he gained the landing-place
he sprang down stairs with a yell. The
house door was closed with violence, and he
was heard running furiously up the street;
his yells and shouts ringing through the air.
Agnes drew a deep breath, and turned to
Madame Tremordyn, who lay back in her
chair speechless; her face was dreadfully
distorted. She had been struck with
paralysis.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

AGNES roused the domestics for medical
assistance, and got Madame Tremordyn to
bed, as speedily as possible. Her strength
and calmness seemed little less than
supernatural. The medical man remained in
attendance the rest of the night; but no
change for the better took place. Madame
Tremordyn lay still speechless, distorted,
yet not altogether insensible, as might be
seen by her eyes, which followed Agnes
wistfully. No tidings came of Achille, until
the next day at noon, when Mrs. Tremordyn's
kinsman came with the news that Achille
had been conveyed to the Bicêtre, a furious
maniac. He spoke low, but Mrs. Tremordyn
heard him; a gleam of terrible anguish shone
from her eyes, but she was powerless to
move.

"We must leave him there," said the kinsman.
"He will be better attended to than
he could be elsewhere. I will make
inquiries to-morrow about him, and send you
tidings. The physician says it has been coming
on for some time. How fortunate, dear
girl, that it was before the marriage instead
of after: what a frightful fate you have
escaped!"

"Do you think so?" said Agnes, sadly. "I
must regret it always; for, if I had been his
wife I should have had the right to be with
him ill or well."

"You could do him no good. I doubt
whether he would know you; but you are
romantic."

Day after day passed slowly on without any
change. The accounts of Achille were that he
continued dangerous and ungovernable; that
his was one of the worst cases in the house.
Mrs. Tremordyn lay helpless and speechless.
The guests who had assembled at
the ill-omened wedding, had departed to
their different abodes; most of them had
come up from distant parts of the country for
the occasion; none of them resided
permanently in Paris. The old kinsman alone
remained until Madame Tremordyn's state
declared itself one way or other.

One night, about a fortnight after her
seizure, Madame Tremordyn recovered her
speech so far as to be intelligible. She
spoke lucidly to Agnes, who was watching
beside her, and began to give her some
directions about her affairs; but her mind
was too much weakened. She blessed
her for all her attention and goodness;
bade her be the good angel of her son;
and, while speaking, a stupor benumbed her,
and she never awoke from it.

The kinsman assumed the direction of
affairs, took possession of her effects, broke
up her establishment, made Agnes a present,
and a handsome speech, and evidently
considered her connection with the family at an
end. Agnes went back to the Raymonds to
consider what she would do.

The first thing needful, was to recruit
her strength. She felt bitterly the severance
of the tie between her and the rest of Achille's
family. They had made up their minds that
he was never to get better; but, to her, the
idea of leaving him to his fate was too painful
to contemplate. As soon as she had
sufficiently recovered she asked M. Raymond
to take her to the Bicêtre. There she had
an interview with the head physician; who
said that Achille's case, if not hopeless, would
be of long duration. Agnes entreated to be