From these harmless, foolish victims, Guy passed eagerly on to the more thrilling presence of the maniacs, but even here, though wild shrieks and dark threatening looks greeted him on all sides, he could not find a clue to assist in unravelling his secret plot. There were loud toned viragos who screached and roared in fearful imprecations and appealed to unknown people, victims of the demon alcohol--there were the dark, sullen, silent ones, brooding over their imaginary or real wrongs, and weeping and moaning piteously--there were the dangerous, careless and happy victims, who filled the dismal cells with their heart-rending peals of wild laughter, that fall upon the heart like the loneliest knell--there were the apparently quiet, religious ones who addressed their Creator in ceaseless, meaningless prayer, crying for forgiveness and mercy, but there was no bright, pretty French child, who called for "Bijou" or her "revenge," and this discouraged Guy very much. Presently addressing the guide, who escorted him through these apartments of living death, Guy said: "Have you no cases of love mania, one younger than these?" waving his hand, as he spoke, in the direction of the rooms he had just visited. The middle-aged guide shook her head sadly and said: "Not at present, Sir, the last one of that sort, died a few months after admission. Guy's heart sank as heavily as a lump of lead within his breast. "Died?" he reiterated in a tone which bespoke a faint hope that the other had made some mistake. "Yes, Sir, poor thing," said the pensive-looking woman addressed, "she was a beautiful sight to look upon too, such a pretty face, and such slender little hands, she was very melancholy for three or four months, and then died." "Do you know the circumstances that brought about her derangement?" asked Guy, almost in despair of ever solving the tangled problem now. "I think, if I don't mistake," quietly answered his informant, twirling her thumbs, "that her husband had deserted her, and then committed suicide, although they had been married but a year." Guy grasped this as the straw to which he might yet cling, and looking hurriedly up at the demure woman who stood watching him silently, he interrupted: "Pardon my inquisitiveness, madam, but I am in search of a friend, who, I was told, was sent here nearly three years ago, being at that time the unfortunate victim of a love episode." Guy fancied the reserved matron was casting covert glances at himself, and he fairly staggered as she said in a long breath-- "The pity is, you young gentleman don't repent in time. Where's the use o' looking for the girl, now, she's mad; why didn't ye leave her her senses when she had 'em?" "My dear woman," Guy gasped, with dilated eyes, "_I_ am not the party to blame, _I_ am only a friend of the young lady's, I am sorry you should consider me guilty of such a serious crime!"