The worthy confessor, alarmed by this tone of excitement, sought to calm her, and recommended the deferring until a future period an undertaking so solemn. “Father! it is this very hour I must perform the deed; but my mother knows nothing of it. My poor mother! she would never consent to her child’s passing through such an ordeal. One person only must accompany me in this mournful visit, and he is the man who knew the secret, the man who advised it—yourself! Will you consent to follow me?” The venerable priest, surprised by a resolution so sudden, surprised, above all, by the change which had come over the mind and language of Wilhelmine, could not resist the impetuosity of his penitent, and yielded, in opposition to his better judgment, to the ascendency of a strong and overbearing will. “I will follow you!” was his reply. He silently selected the key of the vault, where lay the remains of the members of the family of Breuil, he lighted a torch, and advanced toward the chapel, beneath which the tomb was situated. “Madame!” he said impressively to Wilhelmine, “this is the moment to have courage. The action you are about to commit is a solemn one, but it should not dismay you. You are fulfilling a sacred promise, you are acquitting yourself of a painful duty. God approves it, you have nothing to fear;” and taking her hand, they descended together the stairs that no step had trodden since the death of the baron. They entered the vault. Wilhelmine concentrated all her energy; she advanced, still guided by the priest. He lifted the stone which covered the tomb, and removed every obstacle. Wilhelmine, with averted eyes, put forth her hand; she wished to accomplish her vow without contemplating the hideous spectacle before her—but the ring must be grasped. She looks, and a cry of astonishment burst from her lips. She had expected to behold remains disfigured, and perhaps not recognizable; but she sees her husband, such as he ever was during the happy days they passed together; his countenance still retained its expression of goodness and tenderness. It was still M. de Breuil, the husband so well-beloved; doubtless he reposed, he only slept. Alas! soon he may awaken, to ask an account of the fidelity which should have been eternal; he may speak to her in threatening words; he may crush her with scorn, on learning the cause of this, her first visit. Such were the thoughts that startled the young widow, as she gazed on her husband’s form. She had not strength to bear such a scene, and striving to support herself on her companion’s arm, she faltered, tottered, and fell lifeless. The priest, fearing this pure spirit had departed to rejoin that of the dead, carried the young widow to her apartment, and informed her mother of the cause of this terrible shock.