The prince caught her hand, which she snatched away, as if terrified, looking at him with a vacant eye, that evidently did not recognize him. “You shall not take me,” she fiercely cried. “I did not do it--I swear I did not! I was not there.” The prince rose, and, approaching a table heaped with elegant and costly trifles, rang a hand-bell sharply. Almost instantly the violet velvet portière of the chief entrance was raised, and an obsequious lackey stood waiting his lord’s commands. “Send Mademoiselle Finette here,” was the brief order. In a moment the girl had replaced her fellow servant. A brief, searching glance showed her that something was wrong; but _what_ she could scarcely tell. “Come here,” said the prince. He placed her in front of his bride, who was now leaning her head on her hand, resting against the stool, apparently lost to all around her. “Madam!” exclaimed the waiting-maid, in consternation at her vacant yet wild aspect. “What is the matter with her?” demanded the prince. “Has she ever been like this before?” “No, monseigneur--no, no, never. Something has happened,” replied the trembling maid. “Something terrible--something awful,” cried the unhappy prince, in an agony of despairing love and fear. “Do you know if anything has occurred to overthrow her reason?” “I know nothing, monseigneur. Madam has always been so quiet in her life, although perhaps a little passionate in her ways, sometimes. Madam--madam, speak to me--to your poor Finette,” pleaded the girl, taking the passive hand that lay in her mistress’ lap. A dumb spirit seemed to have seized upon the miserable victim of her own sins and crimes. With a swift glance at the maid, she averted her head coldly, and resumed her gaze into empty space. Some crude idea had got into her dazed brain that she would betray herself if she spoke, and she had resolved on keeping utterly silent. The prince she had apparently forgotten. “Remain with her,” said he. “I shall return presently.” He went to his own private sitting-room, and, going to a desk, wrote a few lines to the most eminent doctor among those who devoted their sole attention to the study of lunacy. Then he rang for his valet--an elderly, severely respectable-looking man, with a tranquil manner. “Do you know where to find this medical man?” the prince asked, showing him the envelope. “I believe, monseigneur, he lives in the Rue de Rivoli--but I can easily find out,” answered the valet. “Do so. Take the brougham, and do not return without him. It is a matter of life and death for me. Do not lose a moment--but wait for him if he should be absent.” The doctor was not absent. He returned with the confidential servant within a quarter of an hour, and presented himself in the sitting-room, which the prince had not quitted, for he dared not go back to the presence of his distraught bride.