"What is it, Brigitte?" asked the magistrate, in a mild and meaning tone. "A conscript that the mayor has sent here to lodge," replied the servant, showing the ticket. "That is true," said the accuser, after reading the paper; "a battalion is to arrive here to-night." And he went out. The countess was too anxious at that moment to believe in the sincerity of her former attorney to entertain the slightest suspicion; she ran swiftly up-stairs, having barely strength enough to stand upright; then she opened the door of her bedroom, saw her son, and rushed into his arms, well-nigh lifeless. "O my son, my son!" she cried, sobbing, and covering him with frenzied kisses. "Madame----" said the stranger. "Oh! it isn't he!" she cried, stepping back in dismay and standing before the conscript, at whom she gazed with a haggard expression. "Blessed Lord God, what a resemblance!" said Brigitte. There was a moment's silence, and the stranger himself shuddered at the aspect of Madame de Dey. "Ah, monsieur!" she said, leaning upon Brigitte's husband, and feeling then in all its force the grief of which the first pang had almost killed her; "monsieur, I cannot endure to see you any longer; allow my servants to take my place and to attend to your wants." She went down to her own apartments, half carried by Brigitte and her old servant. "What, madame,!" cried the maid, "is that man going to sleep in Monsieur Auguste's bed, wear Monsieur Auguste's slippers, eat the pie that I made for Monsieur Auguste? They may guillotine me, but I----" "Brigitte!" cried Madame de Dey. "Hold your tongue, chatterbox!" said her husband in a low voice; "do you want to kill madame?" At that moment the conscript made a noise in his room, drawing his chair to the table. "I will not stay here," cried Madame de Dey; "I will go to the greenhouse, where I can hear better what goes on outside during the night." She was still wavering between fear of having lost her son and the hope of seeing him appear. The night was disquietingly silent. There was one ghastly moment for the countess, when the battalion of conscripts marched into the town, and each man repaired to his lodging. There were disappointed hopes at every footstep and every sound; then nature resumed its terrible tranquillity. Towards morning the countess was obliged to return to her room. Brigitte, who watched her mistress every moment, finding that she did not come out again, went to her room and found the countess dead. "She probably heard the conscript dressing and walking about in Monsieur Auguste's room, singing their d----d _Marseillaise_ as if he were in a stable!" cried Brigitte. "It was that which killed her!"