"As I could in no way suspect a messenger from Victoria, I opened the door. Immediately, instead of a woman, a man rushed at me; he violently pushed me back--and immediately bolted the street door. By the light of the lamp, which I had placed on the floor, I recognized Victorin. He was pale--frightful to behold--he seemed to be intoxicated, and could hardly stand on his feet--" "Oh! The unhappy boy! The unhappy boy!" I cried. "He was not in his senses! Only so! Oh, only so! He never could otherwise have attempted such a crime!" "Proceed, Sampso," said Victoria with a profound sigh; "proceed with your account--" "Without saying a word to me, Victorin pointed to the door of my own room, the room I always occupied when I did not share my sister's room during the absence of Schanvoch. In my terror I guessed all. I cried to Ellen: 'Sister, lock your door!' and I began to call for help as loud as I could. My cries exasperated Victorin. He seized and threw me into my room. Just as he was about to lock me in I saw Ellen hurrying out of her room. She looked pale and frightened; she was almost naked. I afterwards heard the distressing cries of my sister calling for help--I heard them struggle--I fainted away. I know not how long I remained in that state. I regained consciousness when someone knocked at my door and called me by name. It was Schanvoch. I answered him. He must have opened it for me--I saw him--" "And you," Victoria said, turning to me. "How was it that you returned so suddenly?" "At about four leagues from Mayence, I was notified that a crime was being committed in my house." "And who could have notified you?" "A soldier; my escort." "And who was that soldier?" asked Victoria with heightening intensity. "How did he know of the crime?" "I know not--he vanished across the forest the instant that he gave me the sinister information. That soldier got back to town before me--he was the same man who tore your grandchild from your arms and killed it at your feet--" "Schanvoch," resumed Victoria with a shudder and carrying both her hands to her forehead, "my son is dead--I shall neither accuse nor excuse him--but a horrible mystery underlies this crime--" "Listen," I replied, as several circumstances that had slipped my memory at the first pangs of my grief now came back to my mind. "When I arrived before the door of my house, I knocked; only the distant sound of Sampso's cries answered me. A moment later the lower window of my wife's room was opened. I ran thither. The shutters were being pushed aside to give passage to a man, while Ellen cried for help. I pushed the man back into the room, which was dark as a tomb--in the darkness I struck and killed your son. Almost immediately after I felt two arms thrown around my neck--I imagined myself attacked by a new assailant--I made another thrust in the dark--it was Ellen, my beloved wife, whom I killed--" And my sobs choked me.