music, a mysterious melody whose notes died away on the breeze.

She listened attentively, and she soon comprehended that the music she
heard came from the piano; and she sprang out of bed, crying:

"Berta! Berta!"

She began to dress herself quickly, groping for her things in the
darkness, saying as she did so, in a voice full of anguish:

"Alone, in the pavilion, and at this hour! Child of my heart, you are
mad!"

All the visions she had seen disappeared; she saw nothing, she only heard
the distant notes of the piano breaking the silence of the night.

Going into the hall she groped her way to Berta's room. She gently pushed
in the door, which opened noiselessly, and an indistinct glimmer, like the
last gleam of twilight, met her eyes. It was the light of the night-lamp
burning softly in its porcelain vase.

Her first glance was at the bed, which, in the indistinct light, presented
to her eyes only a shapeless object; but in a moment more she saw that the
bed was empty.

She thought of taking the lamp that burned in the corner of the room to
light her way and going to the pavilion, but at this moment she felt a
breath of cold damp air blowing softly on her face.

She turned her eyes in the direction from which the breeze had come, and