watches over the slumber of the woman he loves, and leaves her an
epistle in which he declares that, after hesitating whether he should
kill her husband, her, or himself, or whether he should kill all three,
or only select two of the three, and after adopting in turn each of
these combinations, he has decided to only kill himself. He is found
in a ditch in a terrible plight, but we are by no means rid of him.
Benedict is not dead, and he has a great deal of harm to do yet. We
shall meet with him again several times, always hidden behind curtains,
listening to all that is said and watching all that takes place. At the
right moment he comes out with his pistol in his hand. The husband is
away during all this time. No one troubles about him, though. He is a
bad husband, or rather he is--a husband, and Benedict has nothing to
fear as far as he is concerned. But one day a peasant, who does not like
the looks of Benedict, attacks him with his pitchfork and puts an end to
this valuable life.

The question arises, by what right Benedict disturbs Valentine's
tranquillity. The answer is by the right of his passion for her. He has
an income of about twenty pounds a year. It would be impossible for him
to marry on that. What has he to offer to the woman whose peace of mind
he disturbs and whose position he ruins? He offers himself. Surely that
should be enough. Then, too, it is impossible to reason with individuals
of his temperament. We have only to look at him, with his sickly pallor
and the restless light in his eyes. We have only to listen to the sound
of his voice and his excited speeches. At times he goes in for wild
declamation, and immediately afterwards for cold irony and sarcasm. He
is always talking of death. When he attempts to shoot himself he always
misses, but when Adele d'Hervey resists him, at the time he has taken
the name of Antony, he kills her. He is therefore a dangerous madman.