conquered the vertigo that threatened him, it was because he would
rather see his niece living and mad than dead. He hastened up.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"That is for me," replied the colonel, pointing to a pistol already
loaded, which was lying on the bench; "and this is for her," he added,
as he forced the wad into the weapon he held.

The countess was lying on the ground beside him, playing with the
balls.

"Then you do not know," said the doctor, coldly, concealing his
terror, "that in her sleep last night she called you: Philippe!"

"She called me!" cried the baron, dropping his pistol, which Stephanie
picked up. He took it from her hastily, caught up the one that was on
the bench, and rushed away.

"Poor darling!" said the doctor, happy in the success of his lie. He
pressed the poor creature to his breast, and continued speaking to
himself: "He would have killed thee, selfish man! because he suffers.
He does not love thee for thyself, my child! But we forgive, do we
not? He is mad, out of his senses, but thou art only senseless. No,
God alone should call thee to Him. We think thee unhappy, we pity thee
because thou canst not share our sorrows, fools that we are!--But," he
said, sitting down and taking her on his knee, "nothing troubles thee;
thy life is like that of a bird, of a fawn--"

As he spoke she darted upon a young blackbird which was hopping near