"'No, madam, I am not mad,' she cried, in calmer tones; 'I sometimes wish I were. I am in the full possession of my reason, as I can abundantly prove. But little more than three years since, I was married to Gabriel Henry St. James, in Paris, my native city, and here is the certificate which proves the truth of my assertion.' "Taking a paper from her pocket-book, she held it towards me, so that I could read the writing, still retaining it in her own hand. I did not blame her,--oh, no! I should have done the same. I saw, what seemed blazing in fire, the names of Henry Gabriel St. James and Theresa Josephine La Fontaine united in marriage by the usual formula of the church. "I did not attempt to snatch it from her, or to destroy the fatal paper. I gazed upon it till the characters swelled out like black chords, and writhed in snaky convolutions. "'Do you recognize this?' she asked, taking from her bosom a gold case, and touching a spring. It flew open and revealed the handsome features of St. James, beaming with the same expression as when I first beheld him, an expression I remembered but too well. She turned it in the case, and I saw written on the back in gold letters, 'For my beloved wife, Theresa Josephine.' "It was enough. The certificate might be a forgery, her tale a lie; but this all but breathing picture, these indubitable words, were proofs of blasting power. Cold, icy shiverings ran through my frame,--a cold, benumbing weight pressed down my heart,--a black abyss opened before me,--the earth heaved and gave way beneath me. With a shriek that seemed to breathe out my life, I fell forward at the feet of her whom I had so guiltlessly wronged." * * * * * Thus far had I read, with clenching teeth and rigid limbs, and brow on which chill, deadly drops were slowly gathering, when my mother's shriek seemed suddenly to ring in my ears,--the knell of a broken heart, a ruined frame,--and I sprang up and looked wildly round me. Where was I? Who was I? Were the heavens turned to brass and the sun to blood, or was yon saffron belt the gold of declining day,--yon crimson globe, the sun rolling through a hazy, sultry atmosphere? What meant that long green mound stretching at my side, that broken shaft, twined with the cypress vine? I clasped both hands over my temples, as these questions drifted through my mind, then bending my knees, I sunk lower and lower, till my head rested on the grave. I was conscious of but one wish--to stay there and die. The bolt of indelible disgrace quivered in my heart; why should I wish to live? CHAPTER XXV.