Again the blacksmith paused, and again proceeded: "Listen, murderer. On the day of the wedding, as you know, I took flight upon seeing that the attempt to disarm the soldiers miscarried. After dark I returned to my house; I knocked at the door; my mother opened it. She was pale; she was sobbing. I asked what was the matter--as yet I knew nothing. She answered: 'It is all over. Nominoë has fled. He said to Salaun and Tina that they would nevermore see him. The child was brought home in a swoon. A short while ago she regained consciousness. She is upstairs. She is spinning at her wheel as if nothing had happened. She does not speak. She does not weep--she frightens me--I fear the poor girl has gone crazy.'" "Oh, God!" murmured Nominoë, hiding his face, in his hands. "Poor child! Poor--poor child!" "Upon hearing these words from my mother," Tankeru proceeded without seeming to hear the painful wail that escaped Nominoë, "at these words from my mother, I was at first seized with a vertigo. The blood rushed to my brain; I fell seated upon a bench; my head reeled. Presently I could think again. I said to myself--it is done for my daughter, grief will kill her! I went upstairs. Tina, seated before her wheel, spun. Her eyes were fixed; her cheeks were purple; heavy drops of sweat rolled down her forehead. When I came in, her eyes were turned in my direction--she did not budge--she did not recognize me. I believed she was crazy; sobs choked me. I called to her--'Tina! Tina! My child!' No answer; no look of recognition--nothing! nothing! I left her to my mother's care, and ran to Vannes in quest of a physician. I trembled with fear lest he should arrive too late. I informed the physician of what had happened. He took horse, and followed me. I ran afoot faster than he on horseback. I knocked again at our door, and entering I asked my mother: 'Is she dead?' 'No,' she answered, 'she had a spell of weakness, but, upon recovering, she recognized me. I wished to undress her to lay her to bed. She wept and begged me not to take off her wedding clothes. She is now on her bed.' We ran upstairs with the physician. We found her lying on her bed with her nuptial headdress and clothes. She had grown so pale that I shivered. This time she recognized and stretched out her arms to me. She endeavored to rise; her strength failed her. I approached close to her pale face; she embraced me--her lips were icy--also her cheeks. I realized on the instant that she was expiring. I felt as if my heart was being wrung--I screamed with actual pain! My mother drew me away. I had forgotten the physician. He contemplated my daughter for a long time; he touched her hand, her forehead; and then he motioned to me to leave the room with him. The sudden shock that my daughter had sustained caused all her blood to rush to her heart; a blood vessel had burst; she was dying. That was what the physician said to me. I returned to Tina's room. She endeavored to