countries.

"France has thrashed Gaul," said he, smiling to himself; "if all our men
had this Bergenheim's iron fist many things determined upon to-day might
be called in question. If I ever have the slightest difficulty with this
Milo de Crotona, he may be sure I shall not choose pugilism as my mode of
discussion."

The storm now burst forth in all its fury. A dark curtain covered the
whole valley, and the rain fell in torrents. The Baron put spurs to his
horse, crossed the bridge and, entering the sycamore avenue, was soon out
of sight. Without paying any attention to Lambernier, who was uttering
imprecations at the bottom of the ditch, into which he was sinking deeper
and deeper, the stranger went to seek a less illusive shelter than the
trees under which he had taken his position; but at this moment his
attention was attracted to one side of the castle. A window, or rather
a glass door, just then opened upon the balcony, and a young woman in a
rose-colored negligee appeared upon the dark facade. It would be
impossible to imagine anything more fresh or charming than this
apparition at such a moment. Leaning upon the balustrade, the young
woman rested her face upon a hand which was as white as a lily, and her
finger smoothed with a mechanical caress the ringlets of chestnut hair
that lay upon her forehead, while her large brown eyes gazed into the
depths of the clouds from which the lightning was flashing, and with
which they vied in brilliancy. A poet would have said it was Miranda
evoked by the tempest.

The stranger parted the branches before him to get a better view; at the
same instant he was blinded by a terrible flash which lighted the whole
valley and was immediately followed by a terrific crash. When he opened