him. All at once the Count roused himself from his prostration, as a man
awakes from a hideous dream. "This is sheer folly," cried he.

"It is folly," answered Mascarin, "that would carry much weight with
it."

"And suppose I were to show you," returned the Count, "that all these
entries are the offspring of a diseased mind?"

Mascarin shook his head with an air of affected grief. "There is no
use, my lord, in indulging in vain hopes. We," he continued, wishing
to associate himself with the Count, "we might of course admit that
the Baron de Clinchain had made this entry in his diary in a moment of
temporary insanity, were it not for the painful fact that there were
others. Le me read them."

"Go on; I am all attention."

"We find the following, three days later: 'Oct. 29th, 1842. I am most
uneasy about my health. I feel shooting pains in all my joints. The
derangement of my system arises entirely from this business of Octave's.
I had to run the gauntlet of a second court, and the judge's eyes seemed
to look me through and through. I also saw with much alarm that my
second statement differs somewhat from the first one, so I have
now learned it by heart. Ludovic is a sharp fellow, and quite
self-possessed. I would like to have him in my household. I keep myself
shut up in my house for fear of meeting friends who want to hear all the
details of the accident. I believe I may say that I have repeated the
story more than a couple of dozen times.' Now, my lord," added Mascarin,
"what do you say to this?"