“I say,” said the marchioness, grasping his arm, “I tell you that you are more forsaken by heaven than ever, when you utter such things, without reflecting as to whose ears are listening. Cast down your eyes, sir--look who is standing yonder, and then dare assert that you are not mad!” “You are right;” said the marquis, falling back in his chair. “Your mother is right,” continued he, addressing Marguerite--“I am mad, and you must not believe what I say, but what she says. Your mother is devotedness, virtue itself, and therefore, she has not sleepless nights, nor remorse, nor madness. What does your mother wish?” “My misery, father; my everlasting misery.” “And how can I prevent this misery?” said the unhappy old man, with a most heart-rending anguish; “how can I, a poor, insane old man, prevent it? who thinks he always sees the blood issuing from a wound--who thinks he constantly hears a voice proceeding from a tomb!” “Oh you can do all; say but one word and I am saved! They wish me to marry--” The marquis listlessly reclined his head on the back of his chair. “Listen to me! they wish to marry me to a man whom I do not love--do you understand me?--to a wretch!--and you have been brought here--placed in that arm-chair, before the table--you, you my father! to sign this infamous contract--this contract which I now hand to you.” “Without consulting me,” said the marquis, taking the contract; “without asking me whether I will, or I will not! Do they believe me dead? And if they think me dead, do they fear me less than they would a spectre? This marriage would cause your misery, you say?” “My eternal misery!” exclaimed Marguerite. “The marriage, then, shall not take place.” “I have pledged your word and mine,” said the marchioness, and with the more energy, that she felt her influence over her husband about to escape her. “This marriage, I tell you, shall not take place!” replied the marquis, in a tone louder than that of his wife. “It is too dreadful a thing,” continued he, in a gloomy sepulchral tone, “to be permitted. A marriage in which a wife loves not her husband--why, it causes madness! As to myself, the marchioness has always loved me, and loved me faithfully--that which drove me mad--oh! that was a different matter.” A flash of diabolical joy shot from the eyes of the marchioness, for she at once saw from the violence of the expressions used by her husband, and the terror depicted on his features, that his insanity was about to return. “This contract,” said the marquis, and he raised it in his hands as if about to tear it. The marchioness eagerly caught his hand. Marguerite appeared to be hanging by a thread between heaven and hell. “That which drives me mad!” reiterated the marquis, “is a tomb which widely opens, a spectre that issues from the earth, it is a phantom that speaks to me, and says--”