there, a tall, spare man with a kindly face, who answered in the
affirmative when he was asked if he lived in the ruined house. M.
d'Albon explained his errand.

"Why, then, it must have been you, sir, who fired that unlucky shot!
You all but killed my poor invalid."

"Eh! I fired into the air!"

"If you had actually hit Madame la Comtesse, you would have done less
harm to her."

"Well, well, then, we can neither of us complain, for the sight of the
Countess all but killed my friend, M. de Sucy."

"The Baron de Sucy, is it possible?" cried the doctor, clasping his
hands. "Has he been in Russia? was he in the Beresina?"

"Yes," answered d'Albon. "He was taken prisoner by the Cossacks and
sent to Siberia. He has not been back in this country a twelvemonth."

"Come in, monsieur," said the other, and he led the way to a
drawing-room on the ground-floor. Everything in the room showed
signs of capricious destruction.

Valuable china jars lay in fragments on either side of a clock beneath
a glass shade, which had escaped. The silk hangings about the windows
were torn to rags, while the muslin curtains were untouched.

"You see about you the havoc wrought by a charming being to whom I