"In the measure that--the ill temper of my friend Eustace increased--I sought to show myself even more friendly than usual towards him. I could understand his apprehensions. Already, when I was only a captain, he could not bring himself to treat me as his former companion at the anvil. When I became general and Chief of Gaul he took me for a potentate. As to myself, certain that I esteemed him none the less--I always laughed in his face at his rudeness--I laughed--I did wrong--the poor fellow was suffering. To make it short--to-day he said to me: 'Marion, it is a long time since we took a walk together, shall we take a stroll in the woods, near the city?' I had a conference with Victoria. But fearing to displease my friend Eustace, I wrote to the Mother of the Camps, excusing myself--and he and I started on our walk arm in arm. I was reminded of the days of our apprenticeship in the forest of Chartres--where we used to go to trap magpies. I felt buoyant--and despite my grey beard--knowing that nobody saw us--I indulged in all manner of boyish tricks in order to amuse Eustace. I mimicked, as in the days of our boyhood, the cry of--the magpies--by blowing upon a leaf held close to my lips. I did other monkey tricks of the same nature--It was singular--I never felt in better spirits than to-day--Eustace, on the contrary did not move--a muscle of his face--not--a smile could be extracted from him. We were a few steps from here, he behind me--he called me--I turned around--and you will see, Schanvoch, that there could not have been any wicked purpose on his part--only insanity--pure insanity. The moment that I turned around he threw himself upon me sword in hand--and--as he plunged the weapon into my side he cried: 'Do you recognize this sword, you who forged it yourself?' I admit--I was not a little surprised--I fell under the blow--I called out to my friend Eustace: 'What ails you? Explain yourself at least. Have I offended you in aught without knowing?' But I was only speaking--to the trees--the poor crazy man had vanished--leaving his sword beside me--another evidence of insanity--the weapon--you will notice--Schanvoch--the weapon--bore on the blade the inscription: 'Marion forged this sword for his dear friend Eustace.'" These were the last intelligible words of the good and brave soldier. He expired a few minutes later uttering incoherent words, among which these recurred with greatest frequency: "Eustace," "flee," "save yourself."